Mossflower Odyssey IV: The Beasts in the Crater
by Redwall Survivor Contestants
Summary: Ten beasts, enslaved by cruel masters in a distant coliseum. The terms are simple: fight until you die. Glory awaits the strong while the meek shall perish, their cries drowned by the roar of the crowd. It's survival of the fittest and survival takes many forms. Let the games begin. A Redwall Survivor Contest.
1. Prologue 1: Cutieface's Big Adventure!

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Prologue 1: Cutieface's Big Adventure!**

 _By: Zevka (Coordinator)_

* * *

"EULLAAAAAALLLLLLIAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Brockrun the Hammer hoisted his namesake aloft as he charged towards his opponent, eyes alight with the ancestral rage of his ancestors. He was borne forth by memories as much as by Bloodwrath – memories of Claude Riverdeep, who guided him for many leagues up the River Moss and taught him to wrestle, of the perilous haremaid Dayna, with her songs and rhymes and inedible soup, of the taciturn Tuosim shrew Gyerba.

He was propelled forward most of all by the memory of how they had died – scared and in pain and far from home in this bizarre, awful place in the Northlands. He remembered Claude Riverdeep, realizing full well he was about to die and extracting a promise from Brockrun to take care of his holt. He remembered struggling vainly to save Dayna as she quivered and jerked and died in his arms. He remembered only knowing Gyerba by the green woven belt around the shrew's waist.

And so he blocked out pain and fear and doubt and focused on rage – rage at this horrible turn their adventure had taken, and at the betrayal by Gyerba's own clan that had started it all. Rage at himself for not having shaken off the paralytic that had been placed in his ale, and for not bursting out his chains while they were still aboard the ship that had brought them here.

Across the field, his marteness opponent narrowed her eyes and surged forward. Unlike Brockrun, though, Drazat did not fight alone, though. Instead, she rode forward atop a black boar, his tusks filed to fine points. The screech that issued from his throat as she spurred him to top speed had no sound of language to it. His eyes, however, had none of the blankness of fish eyes or insect eyes. This creature had a mind of sorts, if not speech or paws.

As the two combatants hurtled towards each other, Brockrun raised his hammer to strike at the marten. She, in turn, lowered her spear point first towards the badger Shortly before the two met, however, Drazat banked right while hissing a command to her porcine steed, and the boar veered out of Brockrun's path while putting on a burst of speed. The boar's path took it in a shallow loop around and behind the badger, while Brockrun's own momentum continued to carry him forward in the same direction.

Drazat spurred the boar forward again, and charged towards Brockrun's back. The badger had only partially managed to turn before she slammed the spear home into his unarmored side and released it as the boar carried her out of reach of his retaliation.

Brockrun snarled as he snapped the spear's shaft, but the head remained fixed in his side. "Face me without your pig, vermin!"

Surprisingly, Drazat complied. She hissed another command to the boar and hopped off of it, drawing a long fighting axe from her back. Keeping their distances, both the pine marten and boar began circling around Brockrun in opposite directions. The marteness whistled a repetitive tune over and over again, not stopping even as Brock run charged forward and began a series of terrifyingly swift and strong attacks towards her. The marten's eyes quickly grew fearful as she struggled to stay ahead of the flurry of blows. She gave two more sharper, louder whistles before feinting left and then right, leaving behind a small gash on Brockrun's leg before dodging out of his way again.

It was only seconds later that the black boar slammed into Brockrun's back. In the grip of Bloodwrath, the young heir of Salamandastron had neglected to guard against it, and the boar had dashed back into the fray, goring Brockrun with his tusks as he slammed the badger to the ground. The badger struggled, digging Drazat's spearhead deeper into his side as he tried to force the massive creature off. Brockrun succeeded long enough to struggle to his footpaws, but boar charged again. Brockrun swung his hammer and connected with the beast's side. He felt and heard two of its ribs break, but the boar slammed him to the ground again, jaws snapping at him.

The badger grabbed his opponent's tusks and pushed with all his might, but was jerked off balance as the boar suddenly reared back and to the side. The creature slammed him to the ground again and dug its teeth deep into his wrist while giving its head a violent shake.. The bones crunched, and Brockrun's namesake hammer dropped to the ground. filling his nose with the scent of blood and the creature's awful stink.

Brockrun gave a furious roar and began slamming his fists into the creature's sides. When he punched the boar's broken ribs, the beast gave a squeal of pain and let go, but when he went for his hammer it charged towards him again. The badger sidestepped, raised his fists up and brought them crashing down onto the boar's back, bringing it to the ground with a crash. The badger gave a roar of triumph.

That was the moment that Drazat's axe sliced deeply into the side of his neck. The badger tried to strike back as blood sprayed out of the wound but his thrashing motions didn't catch the nimble marteness.

The boar gave a loud, long squeal. Brockrun watched it charge towards him. Summoning up all his strength, the badger tried to rush to meet it, but he could feel his own limbs getting heavy and slow as the blood loss took its toll. His charge began to falter. And Brockrun began to understand that this really was where his quest would end. He was going to die here.

Dayna...

When it was all over, the crowd went wild. Drazat looked up from the arena level of the Crater, basking in the applause of the specators who had just watched her and Cutieface kill the badger. A diverse assembly of beasts – mostly vermin, but not entirely by any means – had clearly gotten its money's worth of action that day. A complex network of scaffolding and columns supported several successive rings worth of seating for visitors. The seats were packed tonight – few Northlands vermin would pass up the chance to see a fight involving a badger.

Drazat wasn't a regular in the ring by any means, but after the badger had killed off several fan favorites, Nire had opened things up for staff and trainers, too. At this moment – just at this moment – Drazat could understand why even free beasts frequently fought in the Crater.

That said, "fighting a badger" was going right next to "eating a live cricket on a dare as a kit" and "drunkenly proposing marriage to a rat" on the list of things Drazat did not intend to do ever again. The marten wasn't an addict. She was going to take the money, patch up Cutieface's two broken ribs, and go back to just patrolling the perimeter while keeping watch for that gigantic and probably imaginary army that Nire always rambled about when he got too much drink and catnip while trying to think up new games. It wasn't the most stimulating of jobs, but somehow Drazat didn't think she'd be looking for excitement for a long time. Some experiences just didn't get any better with repetition.


	2. Prologue 2: And Look Damn Good Doing It

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Prologue 2: ...and Look Damn Good Doing It**

 _By: Zevka (Coordinator)_

* * *

A light dusting of snow fell from the sky and drifted slowly down into the Crater as Nire Borean watched the four or five dozen new slaves file into the arena, where the lynx and his mounted guards awaited them.

Nire had never been fond of the boars personally – their smell rankled him, their eating habits disgusted him, and their gaze was uncannily aware in a way that made many beasts, including him, uncomfortable. He would never understand how some beasts seemed to live half their lives in the saddle. However, the lynx had watched boar charges rout much larger forces, both in the Northlands and in his travels, and they had done a fine job putting an end to a small scouting expedition from the famed Redwall Abbey. Some of his own staff had cursed Nire to his face after that incident, certain that retaliation would arrive any day, but seasons had passed without any sign of it. Perhaps Redwall's reputation was, like so many other things, a matter of showbeastship and storytelling.

The lynx pushed those thoughts from his mind as the last of the slaves – vermin, woodlander, and a few other things too – were coaxed through the wide doorway. During a show, all the entrances to the arena itself – doors, ramps, trapdoors, and so on – would have been concealed behind wooden scaffolds draped with slate grey cloth chosen to match the color of the walls, thus making it very hard to tell from the stands just where a competitor had come from.

Today, however, the scaffold around the largest entrance had been opened up to let the slaves enter in a large group. Vermin or woodlander, Nire's carpenters were invariably the first beasts to get paid when the coin started rolling in – the system of scaffolds and pulleys and cages and gates that allowed the Crater to function required top-quality labor to build and maintain. Some things were just too important to skimp on.

The slaves were frightened and stressed and tense, but most of them did not look like the classic emaciated, dead-eyed oarslave – Nire had learned early that beasts like that seldom provided a good showing. In fact, the lynx was pleased at how many of them seemed to be actively sizing up the arena, the guards, even him – the best gladiators had to have some fight in them, even if right now it was just a matter of instinct and temperament rather than training.

"GOOD MORNING, GLADIATORS!" Several slaves startled visibly at the lynx's loud, somewhat high-pitched voice as it burst through the air.

"Yes, that's right, gladiators! You're not here to till soil, pull oars, build ships, or anything else like that. You're here to kill the beasts to the right and left of you, and look damn good doing it!"

A collective rumble of dismay went through the crowd of slaves, and most of them either gawked in astonishment or glared at Nire in hatred. None of them cheered – unlike that one great big red fox who had whooped with glee that one time at being told what he was there for. That fox had become a fan favorite several seasons in a row.

The shock in the crowd escalated into anger, and several of the slaves began yelling at Nire or his boar-mounted guards. Suddenly, Nire whistled and the guards on the boars lowered their spears and rapidly closed in on the slaves, most of whom yelped and fell silent.

"You sick, frogwalloping fop! What gives you the right to play Vulpuz?!" yelled one weasel who clearly hadn't gotten the message. Several sentries tensed, and Nire made a note of who had shouted, but none of the guards moved to strike the miscreant. The time for things like that would come later.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm no corsair captain – you'll be eating and drinking a lot better than slaver's gruel here, and my benches don't come with chains on them," Nire pattered as the slaves continued to process the reality of their situation. "No, you'll be spending your days with my trainers whipping you - sorry, that's a bad choice of words, isn't it? – getting you into proper fighting shape! You'll learn how to hack and slash and stab and grapple. And when you die!" The lynx suddenly lurched forward and snapped his fangs shut right in front of a squirrel's muzzle. The rodent jumped backwards, but not as much as other members of his species might have. A good sign.

"Hehem. When you die, you'll look damn good doing that, too. Because that's what you're here for. Not me, but for them." Nire pointed up at the empty stands. "When we think you're ready, we're going to bring you back here with those stands full of paying customers. Now, we have enough active gladiators to give you lot a few weeks to prepare, but you will not be idle during that time. In fact, a few of you won't make it back to this arena alive, probably, but those of you who do make it back here will be ready. Our audiences expect the best show around, and that's just what you're going to give them."

As Nire spoke, more beasts entered the arena, these ones wearing the blue jackets of Crater staff. They began to divide up the slaves and move them off towards different exits.

The lynx grinned up at the empty stands. "After all, it can all come crashing down at any moment. All you can do is just enjoy the show while it lasts. And what a show you're going to give us..."


	3. The Characters

The following are the ten different characters that will play their parts in Nire Borean's dangerous arena. Each of them was written by a separate author and picked as the winner of their respective categories in a rigorous application process.

* * *

 **The Characters**

* * *

 **Thrayjen**

 **Category: The Beast with a Secret**

* * *

The two hedgehog babes clutched each other in horror, their bedsheets pulled tight to their chins. Orange light danced across the rat's pointed features, accentuating his scarred and sneering face. He approached them, claws reaching out as he growled menacingly.

"I smell hedgehog blood…" the rat began to chant. "I smell hedgehog blood…"

He began to crawl on all fours, snuffling about the floor and grunting as he went. He came to the foot of the hedgehogs' bed and, just when he was hidden by the footboard, paused.

"But then, suddenly…"

The rat sprang up, brandishing a fire poker like a rapier and dancing from foot to foot.

"Captain Goldyhard!" the babes cried out happily, shrieking and giggling as the rat frolicked about the room in full mock combat.

"Yes!" the rat cried. "Captain Goldenheart appeared with The-"

"Long Patrol!" the babes squealed.

" _Yes!_ And they clobbered the Dread Pirate Blackwhiskers, freed the slaves…"

The rat collapsed onto the end of the bed, his weight sending the laughing babes sprawling.

"And they lived happily ever after," he finished.

"Unky Thrayjen," one of the two hedgehogs, a wee maid, crawled forward. "Why is pirates allaways stealing slaves?"

"Cheap labour," Thrayjen answered quietly before he got up and began to tuck the babes back into their blankets. "Pirates are bad, that's why. Bad beasts don't value the life of another. They use beasts like you or I use a spoon."

The young hedgehog scrunched her face up, clearly not understanding. Thrayjen sighed and rubbed his nose. "I'll…tell you when you're older."

"I uses a spoon to eat oatmealies!" the small boy said through a yawn.

"Perhaps we'll have some for breakfast. Now, you've had your story, so close your eyes and dream up a tale of your own." The rat made sure the window was locked, and quietly began to turn away.

"Good night!" the babes loudly proclaimed in unison.

"Good night," Thrayjen murmured.

Low light warmly illuminated the cozy room. Thrayjen tiptoed towards the hearth on the other side of the shack that made up his home. Already there, an old hedgehog crone used a towel to pull a black kettle off the dying coals.

"How's the soup, Nan?" Thrayjen asked as he settled himself by the hearth.

"You naughty rascal!" the grey hedgehog chuckled as she shakily poured a cup of tea. "It's blackberry tonight. Nice and sweet, like you!"

"You don't know that," Thrayjen replied. He blew away the steam rising from his cup.

"Nonsense," Nan scolded him by pinching his cheek. She ignored his indignant mewl of protest and arranged a knitted blanket over her shoulders. With an enormous sigh, Nan settled into a thick rocking chair.

"When you first showed up on my door, half-drowned in the rain and skinny as a quill, I hadn't any idea what to do. I'd just been saddled with the wee pests-"

Unsubtle giggles arose from the hedgehog babes as they pretended to sleep.

"And now I had a great, big, dirty-whiskered rat on my doorstep. My, oh my!"

"Thank-you," Thrayjen quietly said around a sip of tea. "For helping me."

"Oh, enough. We've been through this before. It's nothing to be kind. You've been a blessing!"

Thrayjen set his cup down upon the stack of old books that acted as their end table. "You didn't have to help me. Could have taken one look at me and turned away a vermin."

Nan clucked her tongue chidingly, staring into the embers. "You've never done anything to prove such old minded thinking. Not to us, at least. That's good enough for me."

"Still, I'm glad I found your kindness," Thrayjen cordially said. Quietly, he added, "I don't deserve any of it."

"Whatever you buried that night, I hope it _stays_ buried. You _don't_ _deserve_ anymore punishment." Nan's paw reached out to gently pat the same scarred cheek that she had squeezed earlier.

"What?" Surprised that the palsied old hog knew anything, Thrayjen's eyes widened for but a moment before narrowing.

"Behind the old stone fence? The night you arrived, I saw you bury something. It was small, no bigger than a broom handle. I never asked. Didn't feel right, prying."

"Feels right to ask _now_ , does it?" Thrayjen asked with a teasing tone, but he was sure Nan saw him force his smile.

"Naughty rascal…" Nan mumbled. Hypnotised by the glowing of the coals, she dozed off, her tea left unfinished.

Thrayjen double-checked the windows and door were locked tight before he himself went to bed.

* * *

 **Komi Banton**

 **Category: The Traveler**

* * *

A big crowd filled the way station on this cold northern night because of a local horde camped nearby. As the vermin whiled away the night with drinking and gambling, Komi struggled to keep her face passive as she tapped out a rhythm on her drum. She hated this song, but a request was a request.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the smug smile of the weasel who'd shouted the song title, then began to sing in a clear alto.

"The red of the stones  
Ain't from the sun.  
The blood of the dead  
Stain every one.

The bell in the tower,  
Gold in the dawn,  
Looks down on the bones  
Hiding the lawn.

'Tis folly to fight.  
Those bloody walls.  
Bodies break against their gates.  
The gates of old Redwall."

As always, her stomach twisted at the memory of her own sight of those red walls. The song had it right.

Folly.

She finished with the drum, set it aside, and pulled a flute from her pack. Tunes were easier to carry than lyrics, and the last song left her throat dry.

The stoat minstrel played on and on until the crowd reached a point where music no longer did any good and Komi noted another stoat giving her a drunken eyeful.

She packed her reed flute away and picked up her pack and drum before leaving the corner where she'd been playing since before nightfall.

The fox who owned the place glared as she went past him to the kitchens, but he didn't stop her. A pair of ragged field mice worked the kitchen. She sneered at both of them. This far north, it wasn't likely that they were Redwallers, but she could imagine it so. Gave her a little sense of justice, seeing woodlanders so cowed.

She helped herself to a bowl of the stew on the stove as the mice scurried out of her way. She slurped it down, hardly tasting it as she considered her next move. The terms had been that she would sleep upstairs, but the big crowd had quickly evicted her from her bed. She refused to sleep in the kitchen with the slaves.

Maybe there was room in the woodshed? With her coat still patchy white from winter, she would keep warm enough.

She left her bowl in the overflowing sink and ducked out the kitchen door.

Halfway to the woodshed, a voice said, "Captain Banton?"

Komi stumbled, the old name catching her off guard.

"Ha, I told you!"

Komi turned around to glare the weasel who'd requested Gates of Redwall. A pair of rats flanked him.

The weasel spat at Komi's footpaws. "I thought you looked familiar. If it ain't Komi the coward."

She bared her teeth.

"You've mistaken me for someone else."

"Damned if I did," he snarled. "I was under your command during Galleran's siege at Redwall. I never forget a face."

"You'd do well to forget this one," she replied.

The weasel spoke to the rats with him. "Ever tell you about my old commander? One of Galleran's finest, she was. Trusted, even. Then you know what she did? Right as we stood ready to take the place, she bails. Runs away in the middle of the battle, abandoning Galleran to death. Every one of our leaders died, 'cept her."

Komi dropped her pack and lunged. The weasel wasn't expecting the blade to his stomach, which she jerked through flesh and fabric with a hard upward yank. One of the rats yelled and half drew a cutlass from his belt, but already Komi was on him. One paw snapped up, clipping him hard beneath the jaw and sending him staggering back, only to bend double as she disemboweled him. She threw herself to one side and just in time, the second rat brought down a sword where she'd been standing. She rolled, mud squelching along her shoulder and back, then found her feet in time to duck forward under the next sword stroke. The second rat gasped as she opened him from hip to neck, then shoved him back.

She straightened, breathing hard, and blinking moisture from her eyes. Splattered with mud and blood now, she wiped her dagger off on the weasel's shirt, then tucked it back in her belt. She picked up her gear and strode away. If this horde had one survivor of Galleran's army, she didn't want to be anywhere within a day's journey of them.

* * *

 **Adeen Pinebarrow**

 **Category: The Thief**

* * *

"This is too much," said Fenton.

"Scared of old hares?" said Adeen.

Two voles perched on the third floor balcony of a mansion. They peered through the shutters at a pair of hares winding through their evening rituals. The husband pressed and hung his military uniform and recited oaths of service. The wife combed through her fur with a pearl plated brush as she reread the letters from her grandchildren. After the marks kissed goodnight, and blew out their candles, the voles whispered once more.

"It's not the hares I worry about."

"I'm touched."

"Yes, you are. We've paid back Duke Granz, with interest, and the guard will notice our skimming in time."

"And?"

"We can just scribe again."

"Scribing didn't save them." Adeen clutched the folds of her sooty robe. "And these bloated scutbuckets need to feel what it's like. You agree, don't you?"

Adeen led into the mansion when Fenton did not respond. Silently they wove through the shutters, skirted the darkened bed chamber, and took their places. Adeen drew her dagger, Fenton readied his satchel, and together they counted from three. At zero they plunged.

Fenton fished letters from the bedside drawer and stuffed them into his satchel. Adeen dragged her blade across the finery of the hare's uniform. One slice for the silver adorning the mansion's furniture.

Again for all the silk and lattice, the powder and warmth, the beatings from debt collectors, the sneers of 'greater' beasts, the dreams of their beautiful, lost faces.

The freedom.

Soon the uniform hung in ribbons. Adeen trembled with delight and let a rattled sigh escape her throat, which died beneath thunderous snores.

The voles snuck out the window and into the night.

* * *

"Mud mice? Did the Duke run out of real guards, or has 'Colonel' lost its flippin' value!?"

Two voles stood on the front porch of a mansion, speaking with an old hare leaning on a cane. They wore the robes of messenger scribes, embroidered with the emblem of the town guard.

"We're only starting the investigation, Colonel Cullporter," said Fenton. "The armed branch will patrol your grounds tonight."

"Firstyourdeposit," said Adeen.

Fenton and the Colonel stared at Adeen as though she'd appeared from nothing. Fenton woke first, patted his wife on the shoulder, and forced her into a unified bow.

"Yes, the deposit," said Fenton. "Your report indicates a warning break-in, so we'll safeguard your valuables at headquarters until the criminals are found. Standard practice, Colonel."

"Bloody bureaucrats." The hare rapped the doorframe with his cane, but stepped aside. "Be quick, and stay clear of my bedroom!"

The voles tore through the mansion with Colonel Cullporter identifying what could and could not leave. Soon a pushcart outside staggered with ancient vases, bejeweled dining ware, and trunks of coin and crystal. Adeen stopped as they left the mansion grounds.

"The doe's pearl brush." Adeen dug through the cart. "It's not here. She doesn't deserve it."

"And we do? Why do we need any of this when we have each other?"

"'Having each other' didn't same them." Adeen trembled. "And if I must lose my treasures, then so should they!"

Adeen stormed back into the mansion, and vaulted up to the third floor landing. In daylight the bed chamber ran foul with pink lace and the sobs of a hare marm sprawled across her quilts, clutching what few letters Fenton left.

Adeen spat at the hare and swiped the hairbrush from her nightstand.

Colonel Cullporter blocked the bedroom doorway when Adeen turned around. The sheath of his swordcane slid off with one swipe, and the elder hare stood proud with his blade bared.

"Safeguard my valuables indeed," said Cullporter. "A length of steel or a jailor's whip will teach you your place. Decide."

"I escaped 'my place.'" Adeen's words hung deadly and sure. "Let me show you yours."

Adeen drew her dagger, counted from three, and plunged. She dragged her blade across the finery of the hare's doublet. One slice for the colonel's hail of insults when his limbs and weapon failed.

Again for the paws of mercy and reason gripping at her shoulders, the frozen nights of hunger, the alleyway beds, her pups curled cold and still in their hampers.

The freedom.

Soon three bodies ribboned with cuts sprawled along the floor. Adeen trembled with delight as a rattled sigh primed in her throat. The sigh died when she realized Fenton lie still between two elder hares.

Adeen stared, immobile, until the real guards arrived.

* * *

 **Kentrith Hapley**

 **Category: The Healer**

* * *

Ken reared back as arterial spray hit him square in the eyes. He quickly wiped his eyes clear, bearing his fangs in a silent growl, bending back over the gash in the leg before him. "Where is that thread?" he barked, pulling the needle that had been sterilizing in the fire. He hoped to sew the nick in the small blood vessel before the hare bled to death, but his helpers seemed slower than usual. The black-tipped ears twitched in irritation. This was what came of working here. His assistants never lasted very long, then he would have to train the new ones all over again.

Take this one for example. The timid mouse crept up to him, shoving the newly made strands at him. He glared at her. How by Hellgates had she survived two seasons in this place? Taking the flax thread, he deftly threaded the needle, and instructing a burly hedgehog to hold the writhing hare still, he began to sew. He cursed as the poorly made thread snapped, forcing him to tie it again."

'Twould be stronger if you used hair," came a dry voice from behind him. Ken didn't need to turn to see who watched his battle to save the broken fighting beast before him.

"Are you volunteering your own coat, Nire?" Ken bit out, working to keep his paws steady as he closed the gushing artery, then began on the muscle around it. The hare might limp ever more, but he would keep the leg. Maybe.

The lord of the crater was silent as Ken stitched up the leg, slathered it with his green poultice, then turned to a stoat that had been shot between the ribs. Ken was fairly certain that they hadn't bothered to dig the crossbow bolt out. He pulled out his leather case and extracted his special knife, one of his own design. The sharp blade widened the wound enough to where his sharp eyes could pick out the sliver of wood, and he used his special pincers to slide the foreign object out. Once it was safe in the waiting bowl, he used more of the inferior suture material to sew the stoat back up, and more poultice to draw out any poison.

"I was thinking your tail would provide adequate material," Nire finally replied, his slit-pupiled eyes studying the young fox. Glancing down at the instruments that Ken was hurriedly cleaning before another beast was dropped before him, he purred, "I was also thinking that your skill with a knife would be fascinating to watch in the ring."

Ken froze with the blade of his knife submerged in boiling water. He lifted his head to stared at Nire, afraid that he was serious. At last, voice forcefully steady, Ken replied, "You can have either a healer, or a fighter. Not both. I go into the ring, and I refuse to patch up those I slice open myself."

"You sliced that one open," the lynx pointed out, jerking his chin toward the unconscious stoat.

Ken took a wet cloth, causing the mouse assistant to squeak as he snapped it out of her paws, and wiped off his paws and muzzle.

"Kentrith," Nire said suddenly, his voice vicious. "You have been here for two seasons, and not once have you stepped in the ring. You spend your time sewing up fallen champions, in an effort to give them one last glory day. A wasteful gesture, I warrant." He rubbed his whiskers thoughtfully. "I might change the rules, so that there are no fallen champions. Only those who win earn the right to healing."

Ken slowly straightened, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "And those who lose?"

The lynx leered evilly. "They will never need a healer again." He raised one brow at him. "Then what will you do?"

Ken watched the retreating figure, the bloody room around him fading away in a mist of red rage. He knew what Nire wanted him to do, was going to force him to do. Anything for a show, Ken thought bitterly. Would he ever return to the days of his youth? Well he remembered watching his mother at work, her paws tending to wounded beasts, the entire process seeming like magic to him.

He stared at the gleaming instruments in his paws. Perhaps it was time to join the fight. Perhaps that was indeed the only way out of here, besides death.

* * *

 **Sly Speakeasy**

 **Category: The Beast with the Gift of Gab**

* * *

It was a full moon tonight, but also very cloudy, keeping the road dark. Very dark. Sly liked it dark, to an extent. It's hard to be followed in the dark, but unfortunately, also difficult to see Sly's favorite sight: the looks on other beast's faces. Tonight, however, that was a good thing. That meant other beasts wouldn't see his face. Particularly, the two otters ahead.

 _Alright, Sly. Just slip on by..._

"Hey, you! Where are you creeping off to?"

 _Or be spotted immediately, that's fine as well._ The vole put on his best smile, and strode straight towards the brutes.

"Nowhere in particular, kind sirs, any suggestions?"

The slightly bigger brute, the one who shouted, grunted. "Don't get smart, I need an answer."

"Don't worry, I'll keep it dumb. I'm simply on my nightly stroll, stretchin' the ol' legs a bit, you know how it is."

The smaller otter shook his head. "I haven't seen you around here."

"Well I didn't say I strolled here, specifically, on a nightly basis," Sly said, waving his paws in a circle around himself. "That'd get boring quick. Need to change the scenery, you know? Besides, what's so wrong with my being here?"

Bigger Brute growled. "There's been a troublemaker in the taverns lately. Stealing, drinking too much, an', recently, getting into fights."

"Oh my!" Sly gasped. "I hope you nab that rapscallion, I should say. Nobody likes a troublemaker, least of all the drunks. They've already got so much to worry about, they don't need that sort of thing."

Bigger Brute growled again. "What's interesting to me is those 'drunks' are saying it's a vole. And here you are."

"Oh my! Again!" Sly gasped, again. "How... presumptuous of you! I never expected this sort of profiling, least of all from you respectable gentlebeasts! I'm offended! I'm appalled! I'm leaving, right this very moment!"

Sly turned to run, but Smaller Otter snatched him up before he got too far. Sly hung his head as he was turned to face the brutes.

"I'm sorry I ran."

"I'm not," Bigger Brute replied. "Just proves you're guilty."

"See, that's not true at all," Sly said. "I'm not guilty, just ... frightened. You frighten me."

"Because you're guilty," said Bigger Brute.

"No, because I look guilty, Sir." Sly said. "Nothing is scarier than looking guilty."

"Prove to me you're not." Bigger Brute motioned for Smaller Otter to put the vole down. Smaller Otter obliged. Sly rubbed the back of his neck, and took a deep breath before continuing.

"You see ... I didn't want to admit it, but ...truth is, the troublemaker is my brother. Laddie. Well, his real name is Leonard, but we knew he'd never have fun with a stuffy name like that so we changed it. Anyways, I've been telling Laddie to lay off the drinking, but he won't listen! There's a fire in his belly that he just can't quench, no matter how much he drinks, so he's been dragging me from tavern to tavern for days now. It's been so long, I've almost forgotten how to speak to sober beasts! So, tonight, after just a few rounds, I knew I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed Laddie by the shoulders, looked him in the face and I told him. I said 'Laddie, it's done. I can't drink with you anymore. You've become a monster.' To which he replied: 'Who are you?'"

"I'm confused," Smaller Otter interrupted.

"As was I!" Sly cried, his voice cracking. "Who am I? He couldn't recognize me? My own brother? So I scream 'I don't know anymore!', and I punch him. In the nose. I don't know what happened after that, it was all a confused blur of shattering glass and shrieking mousewives. But next thing I know, I'm out on the street where, moments later, I run into you fellows. And now, here we are."

The otters stood in silence, presumably deep in thought. Maybe. Sly couldn't be sure.  
"I believe my soul-baring confession should suffice, yes?" he asked.

"They never said anything about two voles." Bigger Brute growled.

"We're voles, sir. We're small. Anybeast could confuse us for one."

Bigger Brute only frowned. "I'm not convinced."

"That's fine, it wasn't a very convincing story," Sly agreed. "But what's important ... is you didn't notice me creeping towards these very dense bushes."

Before the Brutes could react, Sly gave them a smarmy little salute, briefly savoring their shared stupid look, and dashed into the underbrush.

* * *

 **Silas Hetherton**

 **Category: The Beast Driven by Revenge**

* * *

Debtor's prison was never kind to its inhabitants. Even the sturdiest of beasts wasted away within. The young and weak, therefore, had little hope. Silas Hetherton stood before the graves of three such beasts: his wife and two children. There should have been four markers, but the stillborn babe his wife had birthed was interred elsewhere, nameless and forgotten. The rat wept, tearing the whiskers from his face. Ten years he had worked his paws raw, toiling for pittance in a system nigh impossible to escape, but he'd had reason to persevere. Every hour, every blister, and every resulting coin was put towards freeing his family, yet one by one they had perished. And there was none to blame but himself. And fate. Dry, unfeeling fate, that sucked the water from his fields and turned his crops to dust two years in a row.

After the initial drought, he'd had to borrow money to plant again as well as feed and clothe his family, but the second year had deceived them with its piles of snow and early rains. A snowy winter usually meant plenty of runoff and a bountiful harvest. Indeed, the grain sprouted quickly and plentifully, but then the drought returned, and the crops all failed.

Silas left the Potter's field, wandering without purpose or hope. Had he given up after the first year and sold the farm, they would have been impoverished, but at least they would be alive.

After a while the rat found himself at the center of the busy town, gazing up at the gallows. A field mouse pulling a cart heaped with dirty laundry paused upon sight of him. "Silas Hetherton?"

The rat turned his dull stare on the other rodent. Recognition kicked in at last, bringing a name to his cracked lips. "Orwell?" The mouse had owned the next farm down. He looked about as wasted and worn as himself. "You're… a launderer?"

The mouse shrugged. "One does what one must to get by. Haven't seen you around in years! Heard you were sentenced to bond labor up at Chesterton."

"Aye," Silas acknowledged. "Shouldn't've put so much faith in the land, I suppose. Failed us all, didn't it?" He glanced up at the laden cart.

"Turns out it wasn't the land, actually." The mouse's mouth tightened with a humorless smile.

"What do you mean?" asked the rat.

"Oh it was a real scandal. I guess you weren't exactly in a place to hear about it though. Found out a beaver bought a piece of forest land further up the east incline and dammed up Burrfield creek after the first drought. So the melt-off that usually irrigated our fields was hoarded and diverted."

Silas stared at the mouse, unmoving.

"As you know," Orwell continued, "I held out through the worst of it, irrigating my crops with well water, but it was hard work filling those tanks and moving them up and down the fields every day. I threw out my back and then at harvest, we barely broke even. It was this beaver fellow, Blasio Timberfell, who approached me with an offer. It was hardly enough, but I knew I wouldn't survive another year like that." The mouse scratched his head fur and pulled out a flea. "I learned later that Timberfell had already bought up everything else in our little valley. Your farm, Janus's, Skif Ferrel's plot, and even old Clarkson's – all at bargain prices. Then he broke down the dam and sold it all later for three times profit."

Silas felt his heart race and his breath quicken. His livelihood, his farm, ten years of his life, his children and his wife had all been lost . . . because of one beast's greed.

"Where's the villain now?" he hissed darkly.

Orwell sighed. "Oh he's long gone. Trust me, plenty of us would love to take a stab at the glutton. Ruined a lot of lives, he did. But he vanished and it's up to us to pick up the pieces and rebuild." The mouse clapped a paw to Silas's shoulder with some affection. "Still got mouths to feed, after all."

The rat looked away.

"And speaking of mouths to feed, I'd better get these bundles to the wash house." The mouse gave him a nod. "Fare thee well, old friend."

Silas watched him leave, then struck out east toward the upper slope where Burrfield creek now flowed unimpeded. He would find this Timberfell character, whatever it cost, and slay him.

* * *

 **Minerva**

 **Category: The Beast Driven by Love**

* * *

Scarred paws caressed cold iron as Minerva unfastened the lock and let the chains fall slack at the foot of the door to the old shed. A shuffling sound came from within and the otter knelt to pick up her lantern before pulling it open. Shadows danced along the walls and rafters as her light filled the dark shack, revealing dusty crates, broken farm tools laced with cobwebs, and the weasel that was tied from head to tail to a chair on the floor.

The beast's whiskers drooped as she entered, cries of protest muffled by the cloth gag tied tightly around his mouth. "Hush now." Minerva set down her lantern. "Ye've got plenty of time t' talk later."

The otter looked at the chair the beast was secured to and how it had fallen- probably from all his desperate writhing. She worked them both back upright, chiding the vermin as she did. "Now, now, didn't I tell you t' sit still? Must've been a nasty fall you took, seein' ye've gone and hurt yerself." She stepped around to his front and wiped the edge of her sleeve against his nostril, scrubbing away a gobbet of dried blood.

The weasel looked defiantly to the floor as the otter knelt to his level. "Sorry, mate. No sleepin' on me. How about a story t' keep ya awake?" Minerva said, grasping his snout and forcing the beast to meet her gaze. "It's about my husband. Ya see, that oaf was never good for much, but he _was_ a fine angler, and this..." she said, brandishing a thin, metal object on a cord around her neck, "was his favorite fishhook. Over the seasons, I saw him pull in the biggest trout you'd've ever seen with this thing, but there was one time where- I don't know how, but- he managed t' snag one rrrrright through the eye with it..."

The weasel's whimper made it clear he got the message and Minerva dropped all pretense of tenderness. "Right. Listen here, scum," she growled. "I'm gonna take that gag off, and, when I do, yer gonna tell me why you and the rest of yer band of brigands were snoopin' around my farm last night. Answer well and maybe I'll let ya join 'em. Sound good?"

The beast nodded.

"Good." The gag hit the floor. "Get talkin'."

* * *

Minerva stood over the washtub in the darkness of her kitchen, scrubbing a soapy rag against the bloodied edge of her fishhook. In the end, the weasel spilled everything he knew and the otter reunited him with the rest of his ilk. Swinging from the boughs at the edge of the wood, their corpses would serve as good warnings for anybeast who'd dare come after.

From the window above her came a dim ray of moonlight. Minerva raised her hook towards it, satisfied when the tip shone as bright as it did the day it was given to her. The otter held it there, remembering that lazy day by the stream and the question that broke the quiet, before lowering it back to its rightful place around her neck and letting its sheen be lost to shadow.

The floorboards behind creaked under careless pawsteps and she turned quickly to see a young otter peeking at her through tired eyes. Minerva wiped her paws on her apron and bent over to pick up the Dibbun. "Fable, what are you doin' out of bed, sweetheart?"

Fable buried her head in her mother's chest. "I had a scary dream," she sobbed.

Minerva ran her paw tenderly through the young one's fur. "Shhh, shhh, shhh... It's alright. Mummy's gotcha. Mummy's gotcha." A few minutes later the young otter calmed and her mother smiled at her reassuringly as she wiped away her tears. "See? There ain't anythin' t' be afraid of. The thing you gotta remember about nightmares, sweetheart, is that's all they are, just scary dreams. They're not real. Now, let's go getcha back t' bed."

"But what if I get scared again?" Fable whimpered.

"Tell you what, I'll sit next t' yer bedside 'til you fall back asleep. How does that sound?"

"You will?"

"Aye. I won't let nothin' scary getcha. I promise." With practiced steps, Minerva carried Fable back to her bed and tucked her in under the covers, humming old songs and stroking her head until the young one closed her eyes. As her daughter slumbered peacefully, the otter caressed the fishhook around her neck.

"Just scary dreams," she whispered to herself.

* * *

 **Kali**

 **Category: The Silly Beast**

* * *

"You want to what?"

"You have a job opening yes?"

"Well, yeah but…"

"Then look no further! The AMAAAAAAAAZING Kali is at your service!" The innkeeper can only scratch his head at the beast as she bows grandiosely before him. Even with those long ears the fox-bat hardly meets the innkeeper's snout in height. "You were still looking to fill that job, yes?"

"But…" The fox cringes slightly as the bat stares up at him, eyes wide as she hops about with excitement. "You see Miss Kali…"

"The AMAAAAAAAAZING Kali."

"Right, Kali, this is a tavern." The bat still stares up at him, unblinking, "A vermin tavern and you are…" The fox struggles for words as Kali still looks up at him with expectant hopeful eyes.

"Fffffiiiiine," The fox sighs, fairly sure he is signing the beast's death warrant. He shutters as the bat squeals in joy before launching herself to wrap her arms around him, "Oh thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou! I promise I won't let you down! You can count on-" Taking two steps Kali trips over the stairs into the tavern and her new career as a bard.

"I'm ok!" comes a muffled cry as the fox just slaps his forehead. This won't end in flames at _all._

Once on stage, the bard takes a moment to calm her nerves with a deep breath, immediately gagging on fresh smell of unwashed vermin. "That, that is… musky. Very, uh, pleasant smell that." She pauses to get a feel for her audience. A dozen beady eyes peer back at her from the darkness curiously, except for those who are already passed out on the floor, or the ferret spread out over the table with a knife in his back.

Amid all this Kali catches the fox at the bar chewing at his own claws. She gives him a thumb up sign and a wink before turning back to the vermin. "Tell me mates, are you ready to be ENTERTAINED?!" Out comes the three-stringed lute, spinning in her paws before catching it. Tapping her foot she begins to strum the instrument with her wing tip. The beat is surprisingly lively for a lute. Quick and fluid.

Even drunk or on their way to being so, all in the bar raise their heads. A few begin to tap their paws with the beat as Kali plays away. Her eyes are closed when her hips begin to move, swaying from side to side. The bat's head begins to bob back and forth as she dances in place.

As one the beasts in the tavern begin to shuffle in their seats. For Kali though, she is already gone. The song has taken her to parts unknown and the others are just along for the ride.

The inn keeper relaxes, daring to believe that the he made a good decision. He had his doubts, at first, but the little bat is really pulling it off.

And then come the lyrics.

To this day the fox cannot remember the words of the song, only the high-pitched screeching that suddenly echoes through his skull. The slight wail that Kali puts into her words seems to just drown out all logical thought.

The vermin react…poorly. First comes the grumbling, then the hissing, and then they start reaching for things to throw.

Lost to the music Kali continues to sing undisturbed, "I leeeeft my heaaaart in de sea! So do come back to meEEEEEeeeEEEeeEE-GRK!" The song ends as the tavern keeper clamps his paw down on her muzzle, swooping the bat up in his free arm. "Oh hey! Music is done. Time to go." He laughs nervously as he gets Kali quickly to the door because the things vermin throw are much sharper than rotten fruit.

"B-but, I'm not done!" Kali cries. "Wait! I can tell jokes too! Why did the ferret cross the road! Come on! Ask me why the ferret crossed the road! Anyone!" she wails in desperation.

"To get away from you." The innkeeper growls.

"You know, that is actually rather goo-" Being given the boot out the door Kali lands face first in the mud. Slowly, the bat stands. "It's," She sniffles. "It's ok." Wiping tears from her eyes Kali manages to smile as she says, "Don't fret. You got to play in front of an audience. That's all that matters." Taking a staggered breath Kali crosses one tavern name off a scrap of paper before moving on to the next one on the list.

* * *

 **Aldridge Moor**

 **Category: The Beast who Makes Things**

* * *

Sun's a scant paw-breadth from touching the horizon; the summer day's coming to a close. Clouds are streaked in dark grey against a vivid blue and red mess of a sky, whirling along in the wind of the birds.

The scent of smoked fish wafts over my workshop. I remember the first time I caught the smell on the wind, and how I had become so distracted that my knife had slipped and cut my paw.

Medic Aera had tended to me that day, despite the misgivings of the rest of the village. That phrase… came to define her.

When the sun touches the horizon, she'll be the one to come and tell me that dinner's ready. A habit, left over from the time when the others didn't trust me to eat at the same fire, let alone live nearby.

Aera's daughter is eight seasons too young for a militia-grade longbow, so I'm making something easier. Yew responds to even the lightest touch, and will help her build up the strength in her arms.

She likes bluebells. A trip to the blacksmith for a branding tool and a trip to the dyers for just a tiny bit of blue, and now a small bluebell motif rests at the tip of the bow, and a pawful of sky-blue hempen cord in my beltpouch.

It is the work of a few moments to bind the cord around the handle and apply a little wax. A few more moments, and the bow is tucked away behind the tarpaulin divider that separates my bed from my work area.

As I close the divider, my eye falls on one of the black-branded patterns on the wooden beams of my home. Ten seasons it had taken, until one day the beasts of the village came to me and offered to build me a home. I was quite certain they could have lasted twenty seasons more, had it not been for Medic Aera's earnestness and trust.

In what has become a little ritual, I remember each mark and the beast who put it there. A pestle and mortar with a mint leaf at their base – the mark of Apothecary Ennis, who had been one of the first beasts to trust Aera in her trust of me. A knife and a loaf, Old Baker Cricken, passed away four seasons hence and succeeded by her son. A fire and a hammer, Blacksmith Ulrich, foul of temper but an outstanding craftsbeast. A bandaged paw, Medic Aera.

I can hear her stomping down the path toward my house. She has the pawsteps of a badger, which for a mouse is quite impressive.

I step back out into the rapidly-darkening twilight, push my door closed behind me, nod to her in greeting. "Your daughter's bow is ready, Medic," I say.

Her smile doubles in intensity. "Thank you, again and so much! Shall I bring her tomorrow? Oh! Smoked fish and pea soup and bread, by the way!"

I sniff at the air. "And Brack's got to the pepper again? Any time tomorrow, I'm not going out for more wood for a few days yet."

She chuckles. "He's only allowed to do that to his own bowl now, don't worry."

We proceed. She tells me of how Young Cricken nearly burned down the bakery again, of how Blacksmith Ulrich shouted at him until he cried, of how Hunter Tanra had been the one to catch tonight's fish – with one of my own bows, no less! I feel the old swell of pride in my chest, of knowing that I, too, have a use. That I, too, am needed.

The town square is where everyone sits for the evening meal. Woodsbeast Breven worked for a full season to make it what it is today: a huge covered space with four cooking fire-pits, twenty large tables, forty large benches, all contained within the Mark Walls, which are branded with every townsbeast's mark.

Even my own. I remember the signing with exquisite detail – Ulrich's gruff nod, as he passed me the white-hot metal. The scent of char, as I carved a simple bow and feather pattern into the wall, contained in a circle of twine. The applause, thin at first but growing in strength as more and more of the beasts around me finally decided I was one of them.

I take my seat, and the villagers start to pass the food around. Hunter Tanra nods to me from the next bench along.

I belong.

* * *

 **Kentigern MacRaff**

 **Category: The Beast Who May or May Not be Crazy**

* * *

The tarnished metal in Kentigern's paws glimmered but faintly in the subdued flicker of candlelight. His eyes lingered on the medal for a moment before raising to look fondly at the young hare, legs dangling off the edge of the bed, perched before him. He offered her a small smile.

"See this medal?" he asked. "This belonged tae yer gran. D'ye ken how she got it?"

"Aye!" the young hare responded with a grin. "She fought inna Black Siege of Sallymanderstone!"

Her enthusiasm solicited a fond chuckle from Kentigern. "Aye, she sure did. She stood at the gates o' Salamandastron with th'auld badger laird and drove oot the haird o' Gardug the Beheader. Yore gran was a fearsome warrior— she slew dozens o' vermin that day, "

He paused briefly, and placed a paw on her head. "Ah haftae leave now." He raised the medal with tender paws and pinned it to her dress. "Here. Take this— yer a braw, bonny lass like yer gran, 'n she'd want ye tae have it."

She looked at the medal, eyes wide, before frowning. "But will ye nae come back home soon?"

"Ach, ah cannae say fer sure, bairn," he sighed. "But when ah dae, ah'll be comin' home wi' s'mah o' these, ah promise. Gae ta bed, now, lassie." He gave her a final smile, before blowing out the candle and submerging the room in dark.

The door shut with a gentle sigh to echo Kentigern's own melancholy exhalation. He paused for a moment to recollect himself.

"I don't know just what you think you're doing." He looked up to meet a gaze simultaneously obdurate like the granite face of a mountain and piercing like twin daggers boring accusatorially into his skull. Behind the glare, his wife stood with her paws perched irately on her hips.

Kentigern greeted her with a disparaging smile. "Bonnie, mah bonny lass. Ah dinnae think ye ken why yer so angry."

At this statement, her glare only intensified. "Oh, you'd best be believing I'm angry, Kentigern MacRaff, and I know full well why as well. And don't expect find this door open when you come back."

"Ach. Yer just—" he began.

"No," she interrupted. "What 'yer just' doing is leaving me and your dibbun to go on some wild crusade that nobody asked you to. What did these beasts do to you, anyway?" Her voice became tinged with a pleading note.

"Look, Bonnie," said Kentigern. "Ah ken ye were raised in Mossflower, and ah ken they see things different there. But ah also ken that ah'm of th'auldest highland warrior stock. Ah've got the blood o' justice running through mah veins." He paused, eyes flaming like Hellgates. "Ah cannae stand by while vermin are rewarded fair their evil. Y'ken the auld stories. Murder. Pillage. Burn. All the death and destruction in Mossflower, in the Northlands— it's them."

"Times have changed, Kenti. They aren't like that anymore. When was the last time a horde even appeared? Seasons ago, before either of us were born."

"That ain't what yer ma woulda said. Ah ken she'd—"

"My mother," seethed Bonnie, "was as crazy as you. Except she had an excuse."

"Ain't an excuse, lass. It's th'braw sacrament o' th'North."

She futilely shook her head in frustration. "I'm sick," she said, "of your justification. Leave, if you want. If you come back, you'll wish you died in that arena, I can guarantee you that."

He nodded, and moved to grab his bag and claymore. As he brushed by his wife, he stopped to look at her one last time. "They deserve this. Ah ken y'ken, tae."

Her glare didn't soften. "Go." As she uttered that single word, she resolutely turned her back to him.

Kentigern paused at the door. "Tell Wee Bonnie tae be braw. Tell her that her pa'll be home soon." His plea was met with silence. "Bonnie. Tell her." Bonnie remained with her back to him. "Please?" Again, he was overwhelmed by emptiness of the air. He bowed his head, and with a sigh he stepped out into the night and was swallowed by the dark.


	4. Letters From a Thief

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Letters From a Thief**

 _By: Adeen Pinebarrow_

* * *

The last guard passed when moonlight touched Adeen's cell window. The squirrel watchbeast went by Toby, or Job, or some soft name she did not remember. To Joby, the vole slept in a corner mound of tattered blankets where the metal bars met the sandstone walls. When he passed, Adeen's paw slunk down his leg and onto his boot knife's handle. The last click of the hallway gate and Joby left Bastion's only prisoner alone.

Adeen rose from her mound with the knife in paw.

Sandstone ran too uneven for proper kerning, and carving graves required chisels, proper stone, and precision. Adeen took her time on the walls opposite her cell's door. The "F" proved hardest as the already dull knife shook in her paw. The top rung and middle collapsed to form a "P," but each letter came easier despite the stone's crumble. By midnight the lessons of her youth, her trade, sunk home and an uneven "Penton" scrawled on her jail cell wall. By the gray of dawn "Plnepamow" joined beside.

"I'm out of practice, dear." Adeen's voice cracked from thirst. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen. But once I'm free..."

The "free" drifted from Adeen and hung in the air with the chill of the morning. She dropped the boot knife as though the weapon ignited. Piece by piece the images lanced into her conscious mind. The 'Eulalia' of an aged war hero falling before her torrent of slashes. The shrieks of a brittle marm falling before the same storm.

Fenton's paws and chest running red as he tried pulling Adeen into a hug.

The chipped knife remained between Adeen's footpaws until true sunlight beat back the gray. Slowly she picked up the weapon and knelt before her husband's name. Blade bit stone. She carved the first slash of an "A." Then the second. Her paw raised to finish her name, but her heart betrayed what her mind made.

"No." Adeen pulled the knife from the wall. "I can't. Not until-"

"Not until what, Mrs. P?"

Adeen hid the knife down the front of her small clothes, beneath her tattered dress, on recognizing Guard Simondale's voice. If it was Tuesday, thought Adeen, then the hare would stand at the cell door in a flourish of green with dune nettles woven into his long headfur. She turned and found Simondale leaning against his spear in patchwork armor stained green with cactus pulp.

"...nothing."

"Ah! See you've had yourself a touch of arts and crafts!" Simondale whipped into the cell, brushed Adeen aside like a curtain, and studied the sandstone memorial. Another guard - a squirrel not nearly as green as Joby - took Simondale's place at the open cell door. "Marks for effort, but we'll have to talk about your Ps and Qs, wot!"

"As you say, Simon." The hare bent down and touched the memorial's letters, the sharp line only a blade or chisel could achieve. Adeen's small ears turned red and she spoke again, faster. "You're looking well today. The green highlights your eyes."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, m'dear. But I wonder where it is you're going-"

"Enough." The squirrel's voice seethed with annoyance. "The Duke calls."

"You stay here and keep these other chaps in line." Simondale gestured at the empty cells, but the squirrel didn't even smile. "Right-o, confession time, Mrs. P. Am I pulling you again, or are you up to walking for once?"

Simondale always tied the rope too tight, but Adeen was thankful this time. The metal of the concealed knife warmed beneath her small clothes, secure between her legs as he dragged her up the stairs and into the light of Bastion.

The border town sat engulfed in the wastes between Southsward and Salamandastron. Sandstone hovels in various states of disrepair lined up in the semblance of streets. Uneven gates and walls stood little more than inconveniences against the endless march of sand. A few brave merchants set up shop along the alleys, displaying silks of blue and violet to liven up the otherwise yellow fort town.

Hares and squirrels stared as Simondale dragged Adeen down the street. Some clapped. Others held their children closer. Adeen's house passed on the left a few minutes into the drag. Not a beast lived there anymore.

 _The market climbs and - ah - demand dictates you pay your loans. Now. Have you the coin? Hmm? I thought not._

A potted cactus perched on the windowsill, still flowering despite the lack of care. A vine pattern Adeen carved ringed along the window's frame, and Fenton's lacquer kept the wooden entry shining. Adeen wondered if her calligraphy certificates still hung in the bedroom, or if Silva and Thrane's growth notches still marked the hallway. Simondale dragged onward, and soon the house was out of sight.

"Silva and Thrane."

Adeen repeated their names like a song until too much sand filled her muzzle.

The dragging stopped before a parade of beasts by the North gate. A line of ragged captives huddled about a water trough at the back of a cart train. Each one of them were chained at the ankle, some threadbare and scrawny while others were fit and well equipped. At the head loomed a hulking marteness, wrapped in a kilt and vest of thin chains and leather straps. A studded whip rested at her side, and her captives jumped into formation whenever her paw drew near its handle.

Simondale sat Adeen up and spun her around as they reached the gatehouse.

A squirrel of decadence and vibrance stood before them. Duke Phyllius Granz loomed rake thin, a sniggering curl always at his lip. His outfit of over-saturated silks, dotted with self-designated medals and plumage, demanded everybeast's eye. Yet, Granz did not look at the vole on the sand before him. He spoke with the scant clouds in the sky, as though annoyed by their altitude.

"This is - ah - the prisoner's last chance. Confess all and receive swift justice. Deny and waste all our time...again." Granz spoke as though he knew all the world's secrets and found them wanting. "To the charges of murdering Fenton Pinebarrow, your husband?"

Adeen focused on the sequins along Granz' hose, reflecting the wasteland sun.

"Guilty." One question remained from Granz, and though Adeen knew what he'd ask she did not know her answer. She rambled on in a bid for time. "He tried to stop me and I..."

"Guilty or not guilty is all that is necessary. And to the charges of murdering Kirkland and Priscilla Cullporter?"

An answer of guilty meant a short rope and a long drop, thought Adeen. An answer of guilty meant way back to Fenton.

Though she queued the response in her mind, her heart betrayed her once more.

"Not guilty. We'd only meant to steal and leave. I...I lost myself and lashed out..."

"A fine claim from the only survivor." Granz snapped and Simondale hoisted Adeen upright. "But it matters not. _He_ just wanted to hear the first."

"He?"

Granz clapped and a pair of town guards escorted Fenton from the gatehouse. Adeen ran forward and fell, hobbled by the hempen rope and Simondale's quick paws. She cried out, she screamed, and screamed again as her squirming dug the concealed knife into her thighs.

"See how the tart frenzies? She'll do well in The Crater."

This was not Fenton's voice. Fenton spoke slow and respectful for dock hands and nobles alike. Fenton never swore, and the promise of a song chased his every word. This thing, this imposter, bit through the sand on the breeze. Every syllable a command, every word a challenge.

"But a vole?" Granz yawned into his paw. "A vole gladiator is a hard sale regardless of energy."

"We're selling her story, not her skill," said the imposter.

"Oh?"

"A maddened thief cuts down a war hero during a heist. But it is not enough, not for this savage wench. She slays the hare's wife, desecrates the manor, and cuts down her own husband when he tries to stop her."

Rough paws clutched the nape of Adeen's neck and pulled her upward. The ribbon-pink ears, and the fur the hue of fresh-baked bread, marked the male as Fenton. Then Adeen noticed the streaks of gray along his muzzle, and the scent of wine and onion wafting from between his clenched teeth.

"Her husband that she _seduced_ and _stole_ from his rightful place on the River Moss. Even after I saved her father's crumbling mortuary. Even after I accepted her into my family."

Canen Pinebarrow threw Adeen down and limped to the slave train by the gate. The full-metal marteness handed Canen a contract which he signed without reading. With a whistle, all of the marteness' charges began packing the carts.

"Yes, Nire will buy The Black Widow of Bastion along with my timber. Canen sniffed. "Thank you for keeping my investment whole, Phyllius. We're all official. You'll get your cut when she's good and transferred."

Granz gave a mock bow, and opened his mouth to reply, but Adeen spit the wad of sand from her muzzle and shrieked her displeasure.

"Not again, not again, notagainnotagain!" Simondale threw his knee into her back, but still her wheezing voice protested. "This is your fault! You! Everything we did because _you_ wouldn't let us live! Sleep lightly, Canen. I'll carve your grave next, I'll-"

Simondale held Adeen's muzzle shut. Adeen thrashed but all the energy ebbed away on realizing the truth. Canen knew Granz. He'd known all along. The Bastion house they could never pay off, the cold nights in the alleys, the jobs that never held up or paid enough to keep the twins alive. Canen had forced Granz' paw.

"Look for me in the stands." Canen hobbled over and spit on Adeen's still form. "I will be there when Nire's thugs butcher you like you butchered my son."

Adeen wept until a wet cake of sand covered her face, and Canen returned to the gatehouse without another thought or word.

"You. Guard. Get her cleaned up." Granz yawned again and dismissed Simondale with a wave. "Or at least fetch the widow's things if it won't stay still."

Adeen would not walk back to the jail either. The vole convulsed until they reached her cell and Simondale dumped a bucket of water over her head. A soapy cloth passed over her muzzle, her pits and gums were scrubbed clean, and only when the second bucket rinsed her did she settle.

"Almost done, dearie." The hop and sunlight no longer lit Simondale's voice. "Off with the dress. We've your old clothes, dry and clean."

Adeen shucked the prison dress and her small clothes without ceremony, the knife clattering onto the stone floor. Blood ran free from the cuts on her thighs, turning the dirt coloration of Adeen's leg fur into clotted clay. What was once the sturdy form of a mother and tradesbeast was now a knotted vole imprisoned too long. Adeen remained still as Simondale cleaned and dressed the wounds.

Adeen's rugged vest and bandolier of scrolls hung loose after she put them on. In small comfort, the side satchel of etching and writing equipment was all accounted for, and her coal black cloak swallowed her whole. Golden vines and poppy flowers stitched along the hems of the leather and linen garments. The longer she focused on the gold thread the firmer the stone beneath her paws grew. The thread once cost a week's worth of food, but Fenton insisted. He told her surviving was not living. He told her so many things she struggled to remember.

The weakness remained, and Canen's words hung over her like a gallows, but she found the ground once more and saw a knife upon it.

Simondale picked up the knife and inspected the hilt for initials.

"Tricked our newbie, did you? You weren't planning to stab me, were you Mrs. P?"

"Never, Simon. I could've, but I wouldn't." The admission dropped from Adeen like a stone into an empty bucket. "The blade was meant for me."

"Best hold on to that 'was.' Mighty large word, that one. Keep it in mind, ay wot?"

"I'll try." Adeen raised the hood of her cloak. "You're really too kind, you know. Especially to 'The Black Widow of Bastion.'"

"I'm a guard, Mrs. P. I'm supposed to keep _all_ of Bastion safe." Simondale's smile didn't reach his eyes. "How else should I treat a mother carving her own grave?"

Adeen bit her lip and took one last look at her husband's imperfect memorial.

"Thank you, but your kindness gains no ground." Adeen followed the hare's lead down the hallway. "Bastion is not safe with beasts like Canen and Granz above us. Their greed will wash away another, and then another, until this jail fills."

"Then take a page from old nettle-noggin and help poor beasts stay out of the storm." Simondale unlocked the jail's last gate. "Or you can keep slashing at the sky for the rain."

"'The storm?' 'Slashing at the sky for the rain?' You speak in nothings."

"Aye, but I'm giving you the chance to figure it out. A chance is the best thing a beast can offer."

Together they left the jail and marched through Bastion. Again, the locals stared. Again, the cheers as the savage widow made her way to Nire's train.

Adeen sunk into her hood and tasted the hare's words. No chance remained, thought Adeen. Not when The Crater awaited. The pit of legend lorded by a bloodthirsty lynx would afford her no freedom, no chance. Not for Adeen, or the barbaric marteness heading the captives, or her comrades set to fight...

 _Look for me in the stands. I will be there when Nire's thugs butcher you like you butchered my son._

"A chance..."

Adeen looked up and found they'd reached the stretch of street before her home. Simondale caught on and bobbed his nettle-threaded head towards the hovel in silent permission. Adeen took one step forward, longing to touch the carved height markers, to smell their bed in hope of Fenton's scent still inhabiting the sheets.

Instead, Adeen stepped back and joined Simondale on the main road. Side by side they made for Nire's train of would-be gladiators.

"No, not yet." Adeen spoke with the scant clouds above. "First I must learn the weather."


	5. Play, Minstrel, Play

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Play, Minstrel, Play**

 _By: Komi Banton_

* * *

Komi strolled down the road, her pack hanging heavily from her back, tugging on her shoulders with each step. The road itself was an unpleasant mixture of slush, ice, and mud. She moved from side to side as she walked, trying to stay in the flatter, drier bits, with mixed success. Her footpaw wraps kept the worst of the wet and cold at bay.

"This road I trod with eager feet  
Must wend forth on it's way.  
Who knows what sorts of beasts I'll meet  
And what, to them, I'll say.

But I must travel on and on  
'Til the moon o'rhead shines bright.  
So far ahead the road wends on  
And I must trod 'til night."

She'd spent last night in a hollow log, thankfully dry from the soggy weather around her, at least until her nightmares had woken her up screaming again. Song always banished the bad memories and she could remember happier days, marching with the horde, with him at her side.

She raised her head and sniffed the air as a wisp of something reached her nose. She drew in a deep breath, catching the scent again, then turned her face this way and that, judging the wind that carried the odor to her.

Fire.

Fire often meant a settlement or a waystation. Sometimes somebeast's lodging. Occasionally, that also meant it was someplace where she could spend the night playing and get a meal and a warm bed that wasn't a hollow log.

So long as they weren't woodlanders.

She kept the wind in her face and her paws on the road as she walked, eventually topping a rise that looked out over the land before her. Snow-dotted meadows and small stands of trees, with a larger bit of forest beyond that. In one meadow, tents were pitched and smoke rose from several campfires, wisping its way upwards to the blue sky.

Komi squinted down at them, seeing figures in blue among the tents. She spotted the tell-tale big brush of a fox, and the brown and white coats of her own kind and her weasel cousins. Nothing that looked too mousey or squirrelish. Several wagons sat on the far side of the camp. Odd, that. Wagons were rare, unless you had beasts big enough to pull them.

She hitched her pack more comfortably on her shoulders, checked that her knife in her belt hadn't slipped to a difficult to grab spot, then started down the rise. She started singing again, same song as before, letting the beat put a jaunt to her step and focusing her mind on the role she was to play.

"Oi! Who are you?" a rat in blue challenged from the edge of the camp as she drew close.

Komi bowed and plastered a smile on her face. "Good morning to you, friends. I am Tess the Tramper, a wandering minstrel. Over hill and dale I have roamed, following the road before me, in the never-ending search for beasts to entertain. A ladle of food from the common pot and a safe place to curl up is all the pay I ask."

The rat eyed her suspiciously, then hailed a comrade. "Go tell Captain Nix some minstrel's lookin' for work."

Komi watched the beasts who lingered around the edge of the camp and whistled a cheerful drinking song while she waited. Not all of the beasts here wore the blue uniform and armor. Some had a mingled hodgepodge of attire. The beasts in blue seemed to stay away from the more plain soldiers, while the latter clustered together in groups.

A pine marten in a kilt stalked up and snarled, "What's going on here?"

Komi turned an eager smile to her and her authoritative tone. "Good ma'am, I am interested in entertaining you and yours for the evening. All I ask is food for my belly and a safe berth for the night."

She could tell from the set of her ears and the look in her eye that she was about to turn her away. Lingering too long around this type never ended well, so she began to bow herself away.

"What'd you say your name was?" a new voice asked, quite close to her ear. A hard paw grabbed her wrist.

She whirled, trying to pull away without appearing threatening. "Why I am Tess the… Tramper," she faltered when she recognized the grinning face before her.

Jossia grinned bigger, but with nothing pleasant or friendly in the grin. "Komi Banton! How nice to see you. Last I saw was the back of you, as you ran from my brother's battle." Her grip tightened, claws digging into Komi's fur. "Fortunate that you should arrive Just as I was discussing a most interesting job opportunity with Captain Nix."

Komi's dark eyes flicked over the beasts gathered. More than she could kill quickly. _Hellgates…_ she thought. _I hate running._

She kicked a footpaw out, smashing into Jossia's knee. The other stoat screamed. Komi pulled her arm free. She drew her dagger with the other paw and swung from hip to shoulder height. Jossia arched backwards. The blade scraped along a breastplate.

Komi spun on a heel, the momentum from her swing giving her speed. She went down to one knee, ducking under a spear thrust from an armored rat. She drove her knife blade deep into the rat's hip, just under where the armor stopped. She shoved past.

"Stop her!" Jossia snarled. "Don't let her get away!"

Something hot scored down Komi's arm and she hissed in pain. She didn't slow.

Her pack clanked and jostled on her back as an arrow flitted past her ear. She darted to one side, serpentining her way across the open meadow. Something hit her pack and she stumbled, falling for a moment, rolling in the slushy snow.

Back to her feet, she ran without glancing back. She heard somebeast just a pace or two behind her. Komi slid to a stop, dropping to her knees and tucking her head.

Her pursuer tripped over her bent form. The drum tied to the top of her pack thumped the back of her head with a hollow boom as it was knocked forward by her pursuer's momentum.

She lunged forward, driving her dagger first into the back of the fox's leg, then into the back of his neck as he screamed. She ran on.

At the first sign of a wood, she made for it, still hearing the occasional sound of pursuit. Twice more she stopped, dispatching of the beasts who followed her. She left two dead and one close enough to it that she doubted that he'd see nightfall.

She'd taken another wound in the last skirmish, this one along her right leg. It wasn't bleeding as badly as her arm, but she knew she was leaving a trail an experienced scout could follow. Galleran had once had a few of those. She didn't know how many had died at Redwall, or how many had remained behind with Jossia.

Jossia had never liked her, that was a fact. Galleran had usually preferred Komi's advice over his sister's and that had never settled well. Numerous nasty rumors about Komi had come from Jossia's loud mouth. The blame that had fallen to Komi after Galleran's death was probably due to her, too.

Komi stumbled over nothing she could see and fell in a patch of snow, her right arm leaving a bloody smear. A wave of dizziness swept over her and she pressed her forehead against the snow, the wet coolness seeping through her fur. All the while she listened for any sound of being followed.

Surely they'd come slower, now that she'd thrown off the fastest runners? She had time to hide the trail and slow the bleeding in her arm and leg.

She eased her pack off her back and dug into it for a shirt which she tied in a sloppy knot around the deepest part of her arm wound. A vest went around her leg. Using snow, she scrubbed away any blood that might drip. It was harder to get her pack back on with the wounded arm and clunky bandage, but she managed with a few curses and hisses of pain.

She struck out into the woods, skirting through patches of bare ground under trees to minimize her pawsteps. She avoided all fresh growth that she could crush underpaw. And she tried to move as fast as possible.

After noon, she stopped, her legs trembling. She found a sheltered spot under a tree and sat heavily, then eased her arms out of the pack's straps and set it beside her. Only then did Komi notice the crack in the side of her drum.

"Ah, no…" she groaned as she untied it. "That flea bitten fox did this to you, didn't he?" She traced a claw up the crack in the side, crossed by one of the ropes that zigzagged from the top to bottom of the drum. She gave the top an experimental tap, but was not rewarded with the drum's usual rich tone.

With a sigh, she set it aside and dug back into her pack, looking for a pack of nuts she'd received at her last stop. A little food in her belly, then perhaps she'd be able to think more clearly. She had bigger problems than a cracked drum.

Something rustled nearby and she froze. Slowly, she withdrew her paw from her pack and put it against the knife in her belt. She pricked her ears forward, listening intently as she tried to gather the strength to move, and move quickly, if necessary.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ulrich. Look at her. She's in no condition to fight anybeast."

A mouse stepped out of the bushes then, a basket full of pieces of bark hooked over one arm. Another mouse followed, grabbing at her as he did so.

Komi bared her teeth in a silent snarl. Woodlanders. Mice, even. The worst type. She got to her feet, then almost fell back against the tree as a wave of dizziness swam over her.

"See," the female mouse said to Ulrich. "She can't hardly stand." To Komi she said, "It's all right, dear. We won't hurt you."

"I'd be a lot more worried for you, Aera," Ulrich grumbled, pulling Aera back away from Komi. He glared at Komi, his eyes looking her up and down. "You can't trust vermin."

"You leave me be," Komi said, groping her free paw for the pack of her strap. Her wounded arm trembled, causing light to glint off the blade. "I'll kill you both, if you come near."

Aera put down her basket. "My name's Marigold Aera. I'm the village medic. There's no need to kill anybeast. I'd much rather help you, than hurt you."

"I don't need your help."

"Let's be reasonable. You've been wounded."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Aera, we don't have time for this," Ulrich said. "Whoever hurt her might not be far behind."

Aera planted paws on hips. "Ulrich, I am not going to be abandoning her!"

Komi watched the male mouse. She saw an eyebrow quirk on his face. "We need to sound the evacuation bell, get all the noncombatants on the road as quickly as possible."

"Ulrich, you're fearmongering again," the mouse scolded.

"No, her wounds are relatively fresh. She's running from something. In this state, do you really think she covered her tracks well enough that whatever inflicted these wounds couldn't just track her straight here?"

"I suppose there's no way of it, no. She won't be able to do anything much without my paws and a few days bedrest."

"Cricken saw signs of those vermin in blue yesterday." Ulrich continued. "Bet it was them."

"Regardless of who hurt her, I am not going to abandon a wounded beast!" Aera said firmly.

Komi tried to step away, then her leg buckled and she fell. She growled at Ulrich.

"Aye, we know," he said dryly. "We have a stoat of our own, and he's just as stubborn as you. Go get him, Aera. He might be able to get her in line. I'll mind her until you get back."

The female mouse headed off into the bushes, but not without a concerned backwards glance at Komi.

Komi waited until the sound of Aera's footpaws faded, then snarled. "You won't make a slave of me, woodlander!" She lunged clumsily at him. Too late she saw him sidestep, then bring both of his paws down clenched on her back.

She hit the ground with a hard squelch and a gasp. Stars exploded for a moment and before she could recover, he'd stepped on her paw and taken her knife.

"Now then," Ulrich said, backing away from her. "You just sit there all calm like until Aera gets back. She'll have my ears for bandages if I hurt you more than you are, but I ain't gonna sit here and be bullied by the likes of you."

Komi's paws shook as she pushed herself out of the slush and back into a sitting position. Her head ached abominably and the shame of being so quickly disarmed by an old _mouse_ was almost too much to bear. _I have to wait before I'm stronger to try anything. Catch my breath. Gather my strength._

Ulrich kept his eyes on her, but he also examined her dagger, with it's straight, double-edged blade and metal braid hilt. "Good workmanship, here," he commented when their eyes met. "Whoever made this knew his craft."

Komi just glowered at him.

It wasn't long before they heard the sound of several pairs of footpaws running towards them. Komi wished for a weapon and prepared for a fight.

Aera came into view, followed by a taller beast, with mottled white and brown fur like her own. The woodlanders hadn't been lying about having a stoat, at least. He had a bow with him and a quiver of arrows, which seemed odd for a slave to have.

"Here they are," Aera said and Komi and the newcomer met eyes.

He froze, his head cocking to one side as his eyes went wide. "Komi?" he whispered

Komi's chest tightened and a torrent of memories hit her all at once. She couldn't decided whether she wanted to hug him, or stab him.

Multiple times.

The mouse still had her knife, so the latter option was unavailable.

"Ald…" she squeaked, then cleared her throat and said in a much more normal voice, "Aldridge. Been a while."

"It has," he said. "You look well, I mean... Except for your injuries, I suppose." He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away.

He looked well, too, though Komi couldn't find words to express it. Older, of course, and there may have been a fleck or two of gray in his muzzle, but it was the same old Aldridge. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

"Do you know her, Alder?" Aera asked, putting a paw on his arm.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Old friend."

Komi winced.

"I need to look at her wounds," Aera said.

"Of course," Aldridge said and he came to Komi's side and crouched down. "You can trust these beasts. They won't hurt you."

She raised an eyebrow and gave the barest shake of her head as she tried to scoot away from him. "They're woodlanders."

"They're my friends," he insisted.

Komi snorted and looked away.

"We don't have time for this," Ulrich grumped. "We need to get her back to Madder Barrow."

"He's right," Aldridge said. "Aera, can we move her to the Village for care?"

The mouse healer nodded. "Her bleeding has slowed by the looks of it."

"I don't want your help!" Komi snarled. For a heartbeat, Aldridge jerked away, then his face turned stony.

"Komi, you are going to have help, because I'm not going to abandon you out here."

There seemed to be more to that, and Komi waited for him to say more. Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth together and her head still ached.

"If they try to harm me, or enslave me, or…"

"They won't," Aldridge snapped, then he softened. "I promise."

They sat there, the two of them, almost nose to nose, staring into one another's eyes, until Komi couldn't bear it anymore. She looked down.

Aldridge took her silence as consent. "I think I'll have to help Komi walk. She's too tall for you and Ulrich to carry. Can you manage her pack?"

Ulrich tucked Komi's dagger in the pack first, then shouldered it with a grunt, but the mouse was built sturdy and he didn't struggle with it the way Komi thought a normal beast of his species would. Aera picked up Komi's drum, tucking it under one arm and picking up her basket of bark with the other.

Aldridge held a paw out to Komi.

She stared at it for a long moment before finally putting her own paw in his and allowing him to help her to her feet.

The walk to the Village of Madder Barrow didn't take long, but Komi felt like it took ages. She was all too aware of Aldridge, his paw around her back, her arm around his neck, helping her to limp along. She was too breathless to sing, to banish away the horrid memories that came even sharper with Aldridge there.

Tears pricked her eyes and she fought them down. Stubbornly putting one paw in front of the other.

"So," he said. "What have you been preoccupying yourself with?"

"I'm a minstrel now."

He laughed, maybe a little too quickly. "Why am I not surprised? You always were one with a song on your lips." He sobered then. "So, Galleran?"

"Dead."

Aldridge's paw tightened against her side for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know the two of you were… close."

"You were right," she said. "He went for Redwall, and it killed him."

Ulrich, who'd been walking just behind them, spoke up. "I thought I recognized you. You were the herald, weren't you? Galleran's right paw, calling out terms of death and destruction to us all."

"I wasn't talking to you, mouse," Komi snarled.

Aera's voice came from the front. "That's enough, Ulrich."

"She was there when Galleran's horde broke at Redwall!"

Komi felt Aldridge's paws tighten on her. "Not all of us have the luxury of being born away from a horde," he said softly. "She was only doing her job."

The two mice and Aldridge continued arguing for a bit and Komi blocked her ears from it. She began humming a lullaby under her breath, to distract her from everything that had gone so awfully wrong.

They reached the village a short time later, an unruly collection of cottages surrounded by thick woods. Ulrich darted past them, Komi's pack bouncing on his back. He dropped it next to a large walled structure in the village square, then ran off between two buildings.

By the time Aldridge had gotten Komi sitting on one of the long wooden benches under the shade of the strange structure, a bell was ringing out its clear warning. There were a half dozen other woodlanders in the building, cooking over the big cookfires, and they all stopped what they were doing with concerned murmurs.

Aldridge looked toward the doorway, the fur on the back of his neck rising. "Why's the evacuation bell ringing?"

Aera set Komi's drum on the table near Komi. "Ulrich is worried about those beasts in blue young Cricken saw the other day. I think he's exaggerating, of course, but there's no talking to him like a reasonable beast when he gets like this. Alder, be a dear and grab my healer's kit from home before you go help Ulrich with his evacuation and defense plans."

Aldridge hesitated, giving Komi a look. "You'll be fine with Aera," he said, then vanished from sight through the doorway. Several of the cooks also followed, while the remainder began banking all but one fire and putting away the food they'd been preparing.

Aera bustled over to one of the fires and grabbed a tea kettle that had been heating over the coals. She came back to where Komi sat, bringing a bowl and a clean rag.

"Now, everything will go so much easier if you just cooperate," she told Komi. "I want to get this clean, and if you just let me do it, I won't have to fetch Ennis and have him give you a little something for your nerves."

"I don't want your help."

"Yet here you are. Come now, let's get you cleaned up. I know it will make Aldridge feel so much better to see you in better health."

Komi slammed her good paw down on the table. "I don't care what he feels about me right now!"

"Ah, is that how it is?" Aera said. "Well, my dear, time and patience can heal so many wounds, and not always the ones we can see."

Komi glared at her. _Stupid, ignorant woodlander,_ she thought. _You know nothing of what I've been through… what he did to me._

Aera stared right back, her face a picture of patient serenity. After a moment, she nodded to Komi's cracked drum. "You said you were a minstrel? I assume that is one of your instruments?" When Komi didn't answer, she continued. "I think that Luthier Droven would be happy to repair that for you. She's a woodworker who specializes in instruments. I can see to it that it gets done quickly?"

Komi's ear twitched slightly and she scowled, first at Aera, then at the floor, and finally at her beloved drum.

Mutely, she turned, giving the healer access to her injured arm.

* * *

They came just before sundown. Komi, clean and bandaged, sat eating a bowl of soup one of the cooks had given her, while across from her, a female vole worked on the body of her drum. A bow and quiver sat next to the vole, and Komi couldn't take her eyes off of it. Aldridge had made the bow. She was sure of it. She'd handled his bows herself, seasons ago, when he'd been in Galleran's new horde. He'd taught her how to shoot the longbows he made, rather than the short bow she'd always grown up using.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and told herself that it was a carrot.

A commotion at the village's edge drew her out of her memory and she turned stiffly to see what was happening.

Jossia stood there with a handful of horde beasts she recognized from the old days, along with a number of the beasts in the blue uniforms.

Ulrich and several other beasts from the village, including Aldridge, approached with paws on weapons.

"What do you want?" Ulrich demanded.

"We've come to arrest Komi Banton, traitor and murderer of my brother, Galleran," Jossia said. "We know you're harboring her here."

"We have a stoat here by the name of Komi. Found her wounded in the woods. It's not our custom to turn over beasts we've helped."

"Sir, I'm sorry that she troubled you, but surely you can understand a sister's need for justice? We've searched for her for many a season and it's time that she paid for what she did." Jossia's voice took on a deadly edge. "And if you refuse to hand her over peacefully, we will take her out of this village by force."

As Jossia talked, and villagers stopped what they were doing to listen, Komi quietly picked up her pack. The vole had left Komi's drum to go watch the commotion, so she grabbed it by the carrying strap. It hurt to shoulder everything, but the healer mouse at least knew what she was doing.

She got around the outer Mark Wall, but found her way already blocked by two weasels in blue with short swords in one paw and small staffs in their other. She dropped her pack, grabbing her dagger instead, and going for the throat of the closest beast, a weasel.

He fell with a gurgling cry and a spray of scarlet blood.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other weasel raise the short stick-like weapon to his mouth. She saw the hollow opening pointing toward her and she ducked. Her injured leg betrayed her and she fell. Immediately, she rolled away. A yellow feathered dart hit the grass where she'd been.

Another beast landed on her hard, pinning her to the ground. She screamed in frustration and swung blindly. Her dagger skittered off armor and her chances were gone.

Kicking, snarling, headbutting, she fought the beasts in blue with every ounce of her strength. Even as she did so, she saw more of them arriving around the corners. Jossia and Nix the marten captain stood back until Komi was chained and her last chance of escape gone.

"Usually don't have beasts pay me to pick up new gladiators," Nix said to Jossia. "But no fur off my back if I get paid twice. That one is a fighter. Nire will want her."

"Wonderful," Jossia said. "If you don't mind, I will send a letter with you for Nire with some… recommendations for him concerning Komi. I cannot wait to see how she fares in this intriguing game he's built."

"As you wish." To her beasts in blue, Nix said, "Put her with the others."

Jossia held up a paw. "Wait, I want to have a few words with her before you go."

The marten rolled her eyes and shrugged. "If you want, but I keep the pay if you kill her." Nix turned to talk to one of her underlings.

Komi looked past the beasts in blue, searching desperately for one more chance. Searching for Aldridge. Curse the fates, but he was her last hope!

She saw him and as she watched, he raised his bow, arrow on string, aiming for Jossia.

Then Ulrich put a paw on Aldridge's arm and said something. Aldridge's bow lowered slowly.

 _No… Abandoning me, again…_

Jossia got between her and Aldridge. "This is for my brother," Jossia snarled, and punched Komi in the face.


	6. Madder Barrow

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Madder Barrow**

 _By: Aldridge Moor_

* * *

The village of Madder Barrow looked as though it had been spilled onto the land. A hotch-potch of thatched and tiled roofs, bordered by ten strides of lumpy grass, surrounded by thick, old forest.

A squirrel scudded along the treeline, a tiny red-furred stormcloud in the restless branches. He reached a point out of sight of the beasts arraigned at the widest entryway, hurled himself down branch-by-branch from the canopy, bolted from the base of the oak and into a tight walkway between two buildings drooping under the weight of time and subsidence. He tripped over a small and long-forgotten pile of firewood - or rather, it exploded into dust and woodlice as he ran straight through it and into the village proper.

"Make passage, make passage!" He darted this way and that, dodging between villagers, wagons and shop-fronts as he ran pell-mell through the village, to the beasts at the widest entryway. He arrived in a flurry of tailfur and limbs, taking a few seconds to catch his breath and slowly losing the appearance of an angry raspberry bush. "Sirs... a report. These beasts... with the blue jerkins - there are more... hiding... in the trees."

Blacksmith Ulrich swore. "How many?"

Between gasps for air, the squirrel managed a few more words. "Two-score... perhaps... as many... as three."

"Well done," Ulrich said. "Now go, back into the village. Anybeast not confident in paw-to-paw fighting should string their bows and get up high - top floors, rooftops, rafters. Tell them not to fire unless they attack the village proper. If they only take the stoat then we've no need to strike."

Aldridge Moor remembered a foul-smelling ale tent in the distant past. A stoat had shoved a rat over a spilled drink, a ferret had taken a swing at a weasel for some insult to his heritage, a brawl had burst out like a freshly kicked anthill. And at the opposite edge of the tent, a female stoat had sat drinking, sneering at the fight – until somebeast had thrown an angry rat at her.

She'd shoved the corpulent rat off her as though he were half as fat and half as old, surged upright, snarled, pinned the rat to the table and driven her fist into his throat, once, twice – fifteen times until the strength had finally gone from her paws. He had started to twitch after the third blow, and had stopped moving on the seventh. And she had pulled the corpse to its feet and shoved it aside, and had gone to the barkeep for another drink. And in the chaos of the brawl, only Aldridge had seen it all.

Jossia's snarl hadn't changed in fifteen years. She had the chained and helpless Komi in her sights, and Aldridge feared for her life.

He raised his bow and levelled it at the female stoat who had called herself sister to Galleran.

"She's not our concern." Ulrich's voice cut through his thoughts, confounded him.

Jossia's body twisted as she drove a heavy punch into the pile of stoat and chains that was Komi, and Aldridge snarled in sympathy. "She is mine." he replied, one furious split second away from loosing.

"Do not fire. We need you back in the real world, right now."

With supreme effort, Aldridge turned to Ulrich and Cricken, shoving everything into a tiny corner of his mind to be dealt with later. The feeling of dirt beneath his paws came back to him. The scent of the village recrystallised: wet grass and fresh bread and aged thatch. He breathed; he had even forgotten the coolness and humidity of the air. The situation returned to his mind as though it had been at sea too long; incomplete, without even knowing what was gone.

He spoke. "Apprentice Bowyer Aera should be back from my house by now. Have her distribute a full quiver to each beast who's stationing up high. Other than that, Ulrich's word is true."

Cricken ran back into the village.

Aldridge let out a long sigh, pushing the stale air out of his lungs and replacing it with clean. He looked over at Ulrich, who was glaring at him intently, and he forced words out of his mouth, heedless of whether they made sense or not. Ulrich would forgive that of him. "I'm sorry. This is all quite overwhelming. I'm… having great trouble, keeping myself out of the past."

"Then it's a good thing that we live here and now. Get your regrets under control - it's your experience that I need." Ulrich's voice was harder than his eyes. It had taken Aldridge six seasons of knowing the mouse to realise that that was just his way.

The stoat centred himself, as he taught every archery student to do before their first shot. It was becoming easier, to think of the defence plan and the villagers and the here and now. "These Beasts in Blue - they have sixty, we have ninety. They're well-trained, we're less so. How are they armed?"

"Short blades, truncheons, darts. We know they abduct, so we know they'll start with non-lethal measures if they want to take us all." Ulrich growled, and Aldridge remembered what the mouse had done to the slave-keeping ferret who had happened across the village eight seasons ago. "We can at least take some of them."

"And everybeast in the Barrow is still armed?"

"Aye. The scare of that recent sighting hasn't faded yet - only a few beasts had stopped carrying their weapons at all times, by the time these beasts came to our door."

"Then we're ready." A grim certainty fell about Aldridge's shoulders - a thick velvet cloak still drenched from the last night's snow.

"It was always going to happen, Bowyer." Ulrich's voice, oddly gentle. "Every beast's past catches up to them eventually. In a village like ours, with beasts like us? It was always going to be a rockier time than most."

"Maybe so. Always hoped it would be tomorrow." Aldridge stood a little taller, as though he could brace himself against what was to come.

"Never believed it though, did we? Otherwise we'd never have taught the rest of them how to fight. We've given them a chance - that's the greatest gift of all. Stand ready, Bowyer."

"It is. Stand ready, Blacksmith." Aldridge tightened his paw around his bow, ready to raise. He felt himself speeding up, right at his core - like a little cloth puppet filled with lightning. His eyes darted from beast to beast, watching, _noticing_.

...the captain, a pine marten, occasionally raising her left heel from the ground and bringing it down with a silent thump. _Fatigue._

...the first lieutenant, a weasel, massaging his right forepaw with his left. _Minor injury._

...the second lieutenant, a rat, both sets of claws tapping an idle rhythm silently against her hips – precisely in time. _Two-pawed. Dangerous._

...a lower-ranked beast, tensing and releasing his jaw. _Toothache._

...a patch of darkness in the canopy, swaying from side to side. _Impatience._

...Jossia, kicking Komi for what must have been the third or fourth time. _Brutality._

"Ulrich. I'm about do something extremely foolish." Aldridge raised his bow, arrow nocked, decision made.

"...is it for her?" The mouse's voice, cynical but somehow without the edge.

Another vicious kick, a deepening of the snarl. Aldridge moved slightly, to account for the northward wind shown him by the branches of the trees.

"No. It's for me."

"Understood."

The arrow punched a dead-straight path through the air and embedded itself in the leg Jossia had been using to kick Komi, with a sound halfway between a whack and a crunch. The stoat fell to the ground, howling and cursing and clutching at the wound.

"Stand ready!" Ulrich's voice boomed through Madder Barrow.

The Beasts in Blue came to a halt.

The Marteness Captain's head barely turned, but the smirk was clear. Her mouth moved - she spoke only three words. Her seconds nodded, raised bows to the sky, fired two red signal arrows into the air.

The assault began.

* * *

"Eleven. We killed eleven of them." Aldridge croaked out, through dry lips. He had been tied down on his back, limbs splayed across what must have been the roof of a wagon. The limb of a chestnut tree whacked him on the shoulder, and bounced off the vole who had just given him the bad news.

"Six of you killed eleven of them." The vole looked down at him. "That's not bad. Some of you might stand a chance in the Crater."

"Let's see." Aldridge closed his eyes, pained at many things. The dehydration, the pounding headache, and not least of all, the appalling combat record. "Ulrich and I put down the beasts who fired the signal arrows. That's two. Komi killed at least one of the beasts who tried to snatch her. Who else?"

The vole looked off to the side. "I could not say. But all of the beasts who managed a kill have been trussed down to the wagon roofs, just like you. I will tell you what they look like, and then perhaps you will know. I see two mice – one old and male, one young and female. One stoat, female. Two voles, male."

"Ulrich, Young Aera, Komi, Ennis and Tevar. That follows. Ulrich and Komi, I knew about. Young Aera was stationed rooftop and I've been teaching her to shoot for two years now. Ennis and Tevar… I really don't know how they could have done it. But well done to them too." The wagon went over a lump in the road and the air was driven from Aldridge's chest. He groaned in discomfort.

The vole finished writing down the names, tucked her quill back behind her ear. "I suppose you gave me their names in the same order I gave you their appearances. In which case I can also tell you that your voles were not affected by the sleep darts that these beasts use in the capture. I heard a loose tongue bragging about how he was the first to think of trying a stronger sleep dart – but only after three of his group had been felled. Apparently it is quite embarrassing among the beasts of this train to die to a vole." She gazed down, away off the side of the wagon, and her gaze wandered for a little while.

Aldridge could only suppose that she was looking at the guards she'd considered killing at some point or another. His throat started to scratch unbearably, and he let out a pitiful choking cough. "I don't suppose that you're allowed to give me water?"

The vole looked back at him. "I would be trussed up on top of some other wagon for doing so, and both of our punishments would be doubled. Best to wait until your day is done, then recover afterwards."

Aldridge nodded weakly, and let his head fall back onto the wagon roof. He stared at the sky. An oak branch wheeled overhead, discarding a small twig directly into his face. He spat it out.

"Perhaps it will help to know that none of your friends died in the taking."

Relief washed over him. "It will." He didn't have the strength to nod again. "Thank you, ma'am… what should I call you?"

She paused, just a little longer than usual. "Adeen Tullus. And I you?"

"Aldridge Moor."

"Well then, Mister Moor," the vole said. "I shall see you when they let you down."

He listened as she clambered down the side of the wagon and away, and thought about what she had said.

Blow-darts. So the truncheons... hadn't been truncheons at all, had they? The memory came back to him in snippets and shreds, as though remembered through two full skins of wine and a bar-fight.

He had put an arrow through the throat of one of the signalbeasts whose red arrows had started the attack. A beast next to his target had raised his truncheon to his lips. Something had slammed into Aldridge's thigh. He had looked down, seen a dart with bright yellow feather sticking out of his leg. He had started trying to remove it with his left paw even as his right paw had lost the strength to hold his bow. And then the dirt had rushed up to meet his face, and that had been it.

He stared at the sky. He missed his house. They'd all worked together to expand the work area last autumn, and Apprentice Bowyer Aera had carved her Mark into the wall alongside the others. He missed the town square, the Mark Walls, the bell tower.

He closed his eyes, and yearned for home. And in among all the images rushing through his head, he saw a new beast. A flurry of white and brown fur on Potter's Lane, a beautiful bowl being pressed into her paws as payment for the songs and joy she gave them. A old familiar scent in the luthier's workshop, watching fretfully as a cracked flute came back to life. A few words in that voice, carrying over the hubbub of the town square.

But all of Aldridge's willpower could not stop the caravan. It moved resolutely on, and left the village of Madder Barrow at rest behind them.


	7. The Monster of Mossflower Woods

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **The Monster of Mossflower Woods**

 _By: Minerva_

* * *

"I-Is this the place?"

A chilled spring wind blew through the weasel's fur as he picked at the shiny buttons on his new blue uniform. Looking up, the beast turned his gaze anxiously towards his commander, but the marteness kept her eyes forward and fixed on the line of trees in front of them. From thick ropes on the lower boughs the bodies of four vermin swayed like puppets in the soft breeze, their flesh rent by the claws and teeth of some unholy monster.

"Is that a question?" Metal chains rattled together at the marteness' waist as she turned towards the mass of creatures huddling at the base of the foothill behind her. For once, none of her charges flinched as she drummed her claws against the handle of her whip. Each of them stared past her at the mangled corpses and the forest beyond, whispering tales about the Monster of Mossflower Woods.

Her scouts stood guard over the slaves and the marteness looked towards one she knew to be experienced. "Jenson, you're with me. Bloodfang, you as well. Everybeast else," she said, scanning across the crowd of slaves, "make sure this lot gets fed and keep them in line. We'll be back."

"Commander Nix," the weasel beside her protested. "Ar-Are you sure? You've heard the stories, right?"

Nix's chosen scouts made their way to her side and she glanced towards the greenhorn. "Aye, of course I have. Everybeast has, including Nire. Imagine the crowd this monster will bring." The slaver proceeded past the weasel and beckoned him to follow. "Now come along, rookie. You're with us, too."

The weasel gulped and hesitantly started after her, his paw quivering at his sword hilt. As he trudged forward, his gaze met that of another weasel's, it's eyes missing from its sockets and face twisted in agony. He squeaked and quickly stumbled forward to catch up with his commander. Nix gave him an annoyed look before stepping towards the carcass and inspecting it.

"For a creature with such sharp claws," she said, running one of hers along the beast's wounds. The marteness looked to the cluster of shallow punctures by the beast's neck, "it sure has some tiny teeth." She turned to the rookie beside her.

"Before I was a scout for Nire, do you know what I did?"

"Y-you were in the arena right, ma'am?" he stuttered.

"Aye, and let me tell you the most important lesson I've learned from both jobs. Everyone, whether beast or monster..."

A smile crept to the marten's lips as she fitted a dart into her blowgun.

"...has a weakness."

* * *

Winter had given way to spring but the water was still cold to the touch- not that young Fable minded. The otter cub stood up to her knees in the shallows of the stream, watching with wide, mystified eyes as adventurous minnows peeked out from the reeds and swam around her footpaws. Falling through the tall, tall trees above, light danced on the water's surface and shepherded the young one's gaze towards the opposite bank where a single pink flower bloomed.

The minnows scattered as Fable splashed deeper into the stream towards it and dipped below the surface. Arching her back like her mother showed her to do, the young otter then kicked out her footpaws and shot straight like an arrow through the water. She surfaced only a few moments later on the other side and quickly claimed the flower as her own. Fable held it to her chest and admired it as she returned.

It was a water lily, her mummy's favorite. A pretty one too. Only a few nights before, mummy had a sad look on her face, but this would cheer her up.

"Mummy, mummy! Lookit what I found!" Fable called as she splashed back onto the bank. Holding it carefully lest its petals get damaged, she bounded through the brush and back towards the footpath, nearly crying out in surprise when a paw grabbed her by the scruff and pulled her to an abrupt stop.

Minerva held her daughter there for a moment before dropping her back on her footpaws and sighing in relief. "Fable. What have I told ye about runnin' off like that? Ye're s'posed t' stay where I can see ye, remember?" the otterwife chided, her paws resting on her hips. "And ye got int' the stream again too, I see. It's barely spring, lass. One of these days, ye're gonna catch a cold."

Water dripped from the young one's fur as she looked up towards her mother with a mischievous grin. "I'm an odder, an' ye ain't no odder without no wadder," she said, reciting a verse her mother often said.

"Yer a rotter's what'cha are, ye little scoundrel." Minerva grinned and ruffled her daughter's headfur. She looked down at her paws. "And what have ye got right there?"

Fable beamed and held out the flower for her mother to take. "I got ye a wadder lily. This one's pink."

"Oh? Another one?" Minerva chuckled. "I dunno if I can take any more, Fable. I've already got so many."

Her daughter's whiskers drooped. "But... you love wadder lilies."

"Aye, aye. I do, but, maybe... maybe you should have this 'un." The otterwife knelt down and pressed the flower lightly against the young one's chest. "How about this? How about we put it on yer dress like this? That way, whenever I kin see yer smilin' face, I kin see it, too. How does that sound? We could do it together."

The Dibbun paused to consider for only a moment before nodding her head furiously.

Fable rocked on her heels in anticipation as Minerva reached into her apron pocket and produced a thin needle and spool of thread. "Now, now, settle down and hold still," she said as she fit the thread through the eye. When she calmed, Minerva pressed the flower to the lapel of her daughter's dress and sewed the first stitch, making sure it went through both the fabric and sepal, before holding the needle up for the young otter to take. "Yer turn," she said.

Fable's expression twisted in concentration as she took the needle from her mother. "Gently. Carefully. Easy does it." She sewed the second stitch. Together they continued, passing the needle between each other until Minerva was sure it was secured well enough. It likely wouldn't last very long, but it was at least something the otterwife could look for should she wander off again. "There. A pretty flower fer a pretty maid."

The otterwife rose to her footpaws before taking the smaller of two baskets on the ground behind her and pressing its handle into her daughter's paw. "Now, I've a game fer ye. Would ya like t' play?" At the young one's nod Minerva knelt back down to her and put on a roguish smile, continuing only in whispers as if she were telling Fable some grand secret. "If you can get more blueberries in that basket than yer belly, then maybe, just maybe, when we get back t' the farm... we can bake a pie together fer supper. Think ye can manage that fer me?"

"Uh-huh!" Before Minerva could stop her, Fable twisted around and scurried off towards the blueberry bushes down the path, nearly stumbling over her own rudder in excitement.

"Fable, wait! Don't run off! Don't ye want me t' see yer flower?" Minerva called, but the young one was already lost to sight in the clusters of trees and brush. The otterwife sighed and shook her head, listening as her daughter's negligent giggling carried through the woods.

There wasn't any reason to worry, Minerva supposed as she picked up her own basket and followed after her. Most vermin hardly dared step foot into the thick woods surrounding their farm. They saw the bodies that were hung at the edge of the wood and turned tail in the other direction. Even travelers and goodbeasts simply passing through moved with haste, lest they met the Monster of Mossflower Woods. It was all of course just a rumor, but beasts didn't need to know that. So long as it kept the both of them safe, Minerva didn't mind the nickname.

As Minerva continued down the path, she ceased in her tracks suddenly. The forest around her was silent, but while the woods were always quiet, Fable was not, and her giggling stopped. The otter began to run.

"Fable. Fable!" she called as she charged through the brush. In the blur of brown and green there was a flash of pink, and the otterwife stopped and sighed with relief when she saw her daughter standing beside the blueberry bushes. As Minerva approached, she saw that the young otter's head was cocked to the side and she looked towards a cusp of trees. Standing there, was another beast.

Minerva instinctively reached for her sling, cursing when she realized it wasn't at her side. Only a few nights before, the otterwife had dealt with some vermin who were skulking around their farm. Thinking them gone and the woods safe again, she left the weapon at home. However, as she inspected the beast closer, her paw relaxed. It wasn't a vermin, she realized, but a hedgehog.

The beast noticed them from the corner of his eye and turned, looking at the both of them curiously before donning a friendly smile. "Ahoy! Fancy meeting other beasts out here!" the hedgehog called with a wave. At Minerva's silence, he added. "Apologies if I've given you ladies a fright."

The hedgehog stood partly in the brush ahead, and Minerva looked him over as she stepped to Fable's side. The beast was lean for a hedgehog and wore a simple blue jerkin, and he seemed friendly enough. Clearing her throat, the otter replied, "Oh no, sir. Sorry, it just ain't often we see other beasts through here is all. Are ye a trav'ler, Mister...?"

"Ah! Sorry, marm. I forgot my manners. The name's Jenson, and, aye, I'm a traveler of sorts," he answered her, chuckling lightly. Before the otter could say anything else, he continued on. "So you live here then? Must be perilous for you two, what with the Monster and all."

"Aye! We gotta farm-"

The otter quickly clamped her daughter's mouth shut with her paw and cautioned her to stay quiet. Lowering her paw, Minerva turned back towards the stranger. The words still hung in the air and the otterwife had no choice but to finish them. "Aye, we got a farm a little ways north of here. Ye must've missed it. And aye, it's perilous, but the Monster don't bother us so long as we don't bother it. It only goes after bad beasts. Ain't that right, Fable?"

The young one nodded tentatively.

An amused smile came to Jenson's lips. "Well, ain't that convenient!" he said with a hearty chuckle. "Must be nice having a creature like the Monster of Mossflower Woods protecting you. I envy you actually. All I've got is this dagger." From below the brush, the hedgehog drew a blade that Minerva hadn't seen and her paw snapped in front of Fable instinctively. "It's nice and sharp though. Makes sleeping in the cold open all the more safer," Jenson explained. He held the knife straight up, seemingly admiring it as he turned it in his paw. Left then right. Left then right. Minerva watched as light glistened off the blade.

The otterwife took a step back, keeping her eyes on the stranger, and began to guide Fable back with her towards the trees "Aye. Well, if ye're lookin' fer someplace safe, it ain't here. Redwall's back the way ye came."

Jenson put the dagger away and stepped out from the brush, his eyes tracing along the battle scars on the otterwife's paws and arms before finally settling on the shining silver fishhook she wore around her neck. "Oh, no no. I think I already found what I'm looking for."

From the corner of Minerva's vision came another flash of blue.

"Fable. Back to the farm. Now. RUN!" The otterwife turned and shouted to her daughter. The young otter faltered for a moment in confusion before the look on her mother's face caused her to stumble back in fright and flee on all fours towards the trees.

Minerva turned quickly back to the slaver and she gasped when she saw he already drew a weapon, a blowgun, from his belt. Then she realized it wasn't pointed at her. Without a thought, the otter leapt in the way of the dart aimed for her daughter, wincing as it buried itself into her shoulder.

 _Ba-bum._ Her heart beat within her chest only one time before, suddenly, the forest began to tilt and turn around her. The trees grew distant as if they were a mile away and then began to blur. Two Jensons started towards the reeling otterwife, both putting away their blowguns and reaching for the manacles at their waists.

"Seeeeee, what'd Nixxxx teelllll youuuu, rooookieee. Everyyyybeeeeast'ssss got aaa weaknesssssss," the hedgehogs said, their voices slow yet echoing through her ears as her eyelids began to fall shut and she struggled to keep her footing. Turning to the distant woods, they raised their paws and pointed with a claw. "Nowwww gooo findddd the puuuuuppp."

As the order echoed in Minerva's ears, visions of her daughter bound in chains and cowering at the mercy of a cruel beast's whip appeared in her head. The trees grew closer then and the Jensons merged back into one. Her mind buzzed and the world around her still felt as if it were being carried on a ship in stormy waters, but the otterwife shook her head and kept her eyes open.

Jenson turned towards her as Minerva pulled the dart from her shoulder and threw it to the side. "Still awake?" the beast asked. "Come on, marm. Make this easy." The otter ignored him, her gaze darting to the forest floor in search of anything that she could maybe use against him. Finallyl, it settled upon a stone lying on the ground. It was impractical, nearly half the size of her head, but it was something.

"Rookie, get back over here," the hedgehog called. He raised his paw to his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. "She's gonna need another dart I think. Bigger beasts sometimes do. Why don't you do the honors? Get some experience?"

Minerva turned as a weasel in blue appeared from the blur and looked towards her with a frightened grimace. "What's... a hedge'og doin'... workin' with vermin... scum?" the otter rasped out in confusion.

Jenson shrugged. "Got a family to feed."

"Then plant... and grow."

"You've your talents, I've got mine. Besides, planting doesn't pay off the collectors." The hedgehog turned to his companion as the weasel lifted his blowgun to his lips. "Right, it's an easy shot. She ain't even moving."

Minerva once more forced her eyelids open, watching as the coward took aim towards her. His paws shook. Her legs trembled. He took the shot.

The dart whizzed through the air, straight and true, before burying itself in a tree trunk behind the otter. Before the inexperienced weasel could load another dart and correct his mistake, Minerva leapt towards the stone and swung it wildly at Jenson, but the hedgehog jumped out of her reach. She flailed her weapon in front of her to ward the slavers off and stumbled backwards, pressing her back against a tree.

Minerva cursed as the leaves rustled and a third beast, a fox, appeared from the brush, twirling his blowgun in his paws carelessly. "Oy, is this the beasst?"

"Aye, to think the Monster of Mossflower Woods..." Jenson started with a cocky smile, "is just some homely otterwife. She's got fight in her though, I'll give her that. Of course, not much left. Maybe we don't need that second dart after all, rookie."

The otter knew he was right. Her eyelids drooped and she had to shake herself to keep awake. The stone in her paws began to slip, but she tightened her grip, knowing if she dropped it all three of the slavers would be on her in an instant. She had to think of a way out. Minerva's eyes bounced between all of them: the careless fox, the inexperienced weasel, and then the hedgehog and his cocky smile.

Minerva let her legs give out then. Stumbling backwards, she fell against the tree behind her and slid down its trunk to her rump. The otter hung her head, murmuring over and over to herself as she shut her eyelids, and her grip on the stone loosened.

"Hrm... See, sometimes it just takes a bit longer to get through bigger beasts' systems," Jenson said. He stepped forward with the manacles.

"Be careful," the rookie advised.

"Nah, she's out like a babe." Jenson crouched over her and stretched the chains, smiling as a whispering murmur reached his ears. He looked towards the otterwife. "I can't hear you, marm. Speak up." The hedgehog leaned his head closer, listening as the whispers became words.

"Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake."

Minerva's eyelids snapped open then and, before Jenson could react, the stone collided with his skull with a resounding crack. The careless fox yelped in surprise and his blowgun spun from his paw to the ground. The otter went for him next. Rising to her footpaws, she rushed forward and charged into the vulpine, pinning him against a tree before she brought the stone crashing down on his head. He fell in a heap and didn't get up.

Minerva panted and turned to the weasel. "You were lookin' fer the Monster of Mossflower Woods, right?" she spat, brandishing the bloodied stone. "You found her."

Before the weasel could draw his dagger, the otter swung her weapon into his side and knocked him to the ground. She stood over him and raised the stone.

"I wouldn't do that..."

Minerva turned towards the sound of the voice and a lump rose in her throat. The world shook and churned around the otter, but one thing was clear: a fourth beast, a hulking marteness, had appeared and stood with a sly smile on her face and a dagger in one paw. In her other, cradled in the crook of her arm, was the still form of an ottermaid with a pink flower sewed to her lapel and a dart in her arm.

"Commander Nix!" the weasel gasped. "S-she killed them!"

"Aye, I see that, rookie, but if she's smart, she won't kill anybeast else," the marten stated in a flat tone. She turned the dagger in her paw, placing its point closer to Fable, and looked towards the panting otterwife. "You wouldn't want this pretty flower to lose a petal now, would you?"

Minerva lowered the stone without a word and let it fall to the ground, glaring coldly at the slaver. At a look from his commander, the weasel squirmed out from under her and panted in relief.

"Aye, I thought not." Nix moved closer, smirking when Minerva's cold stare followed her every step. The marten paused, looking quickly at the bloodied stone and the two dead beasts crumpled on the forest floor. "Hellgates," she said with a surprised smile. "Nire's going to love you."

A gleam caught her attention, and Nix turned her head to the fishhook around the otter's neck. "Oh? What do you have there?"

Nix kept her dagger tucked under Fable's chin as she stepped forward with curiosity. Minerva clenched her teeth as the marteness leaned over to get a better look at the object. "Is this how you did the claws and teeth?" she asked with a smile. "Clever."

Without warning, the marteness reached forward with her dagger paw and ripped the cord from around her neck. Minerva snarled and started forward but Nix backed away, waving her weapon. The otterwife glared at the slaver sullenly and stopped. "Give me that back," she growled.

"No, I don't want you poking anybeast's eyes out. I think I'll hang onto it," Nix said. "Besides, this is your end of the trade."

"Trade?" Minerva asked.

Nix ignored her and turned back to the panting weasel.

"Get her in chains, rookie. We've got a long road ahead of us."

* * *

It was only after they had secured a set of manacles around Minerva's wrists that she was given back her daughter to carry. Two thin lines of chains extended from the iron collar forced around the otterwife's neck, the ends of each being held by one of the slavers as they led her through the trees. Holding the end behind her, Nix yanked her back whenever she walked too far forward or her eyes strayed, while the weasel made sure she never lagged behind. Minerva held Fable close, keeping their pace as well as she could lest the two vermin thought it a reason to take or threaten the young one again.

Minerva adjusted the unconscious child in her arms. It had been an hour since they started walking and, while the effects of the dart were beginning to wear off on the otterwife, her daughter still hadn't woken. She clenched her teeth, hating how helpless she was, as she braved a question. "How long will it take fer her t' wake up?"

"Depends on the beast usually," came Nix's answer from behind her. "For larger beasts like you or me, it can take a whole two darts before they keel over, and then they're out for at least a few hours. Stronger beasts can take more though. It took three for me." Minerva looked over her shoulder, confused, but a sharp pull at her neck from the marteness reminded her to keep forward. After a pause, Nix continued. "For smaller beasts- mice, shrews, and the like- one dart is usually all it takes to knock them out cold for most of the day. Should be the same for her."

The forest began to thin as they reached the end of it. Even though Fable was unconscious, Minerva instinctively covered the young one's eyes as they passed by the hanging corpses.

Only a season ago, Minerva had been careless and hung one just too close to their farm and Fable came across it while playing. Her poor daughter came running home wailing and it took hours to finally calm her, and, though she assured her that the Monster of Mossflower Woods protected them from bad beasts, she had become plagued with nightmares all the same.

Minerva hung her head. It was her own carelessness that had given Fable her nightmares when she slept, and now it was carelessness that would make them a reality when she woke.

She paused at the end of the wood for only a moment to gaze at the mountains in the distance and the forests beyond. In the many seasons/years she had lived on her farm, she had never left or had the desire to. They had been safe, secure, and comfortable. But it was then, with the tug of a chain at her neck, that the Monster of Mossflower Woods was pulled forcibly from her home and into the world.

At the base of the foothill, there were a mass of beasts who had been captured before her. Each of them stared at Minerva in confusion as she was led past. Even the beasts in blue who stood guard whispered in disbelief amongst themselves.

"Commander Nix," a rat called, rushing to the marten's side. "Is - Is this the Monster? It can't be. Where's Jenson and Bloodfang?"

"Dead," was all Nix said.

The answer only brought forth more whispers and Minerva stole a glance towards the mass of slaves. Among them she saw mice, hedgehogs, squirrels, and all manner of other goodbeasts. What confused the otterwife however was that a number of vermin stared back at her as well. A tug brought her back facing forward and she pressed on, confused. Why would vermin slavers capture their own kind?

And why would goodbeasts be helping them? As she walked among the clusters of caravans and wagons, Minerva realized that Jenson wasn't just some wayward soul. Among the beasts standing guard, she counted just as many woodlanders in blue uniforms as vermin. Who were these beasts?

A rush of hot air hit her shoulder and it startled Minerva out from her revelry. She turned and then fell backwards, struggling against the collar and chains and nearly shrieking in terror at the creature that loomed over her and Fable. The beast was larger than a badger, standing on four legs, and with short black fur and a mane that trailed down the length of its broad neck and spine. Dark beady eyes hardly blinked at her as it sniffed at the young otter in her paws with its strange flat nose. A set of long dagger-like teeth protruded from the creature's lower jaw and curled around the outside of its snout, and it snorted as Minerva covered her daughter defensively.

 _Wuh-psshkkk!_ Nix cracked her whip. "Back! That young 'un isn't for you." The creature squealed as the marteness cracked her whip again and it retreated back away from Minerva, staring at her before turning and ambling away. Nix panted and looped her weapon back around her belt. "Rookie, get her up."

"What- what was that thing?" Minerva stuttered as the weasel pulled her to her feet.

"It's called a boar. Ferocious like a badger in Bloodwrath and more unpredictable. If you've heard of the seals in the Western Sea, boars are similar. They might not be able to talk like you or I, but they're smart as a whip and very good at remembering faces, so you don't want to tick one off," Nix explained. "Oh, and, before you get the idea, Monster, I'd advise you sit tight and throw away any escape plan you might have. Every last one of these creatures is trained to chase after you should you run, and, let me tell you now, they _are_ faster than you, and, whether they bring you back healthy or in a bloodied heap they've never shown much preference."

"Oy, commander. Maybe we should've brought one with us. She'd've surrendered right then, heh," the weasel joked in front of her.

"Or been slain."

Still trembling from her encounter with the boar, Minerva was led towards a cluster of carts near the center of the camp. "Right, this is good," Nix said, pulling her towards an empty one and motioning for the otter to step into it. An iron spike stuck out from the wooden floor of the cart with a short chain fastened to it. Minerva grimaced as the shackle at the end was secured around her footpaw. A sharp tug at her neck forced her to turn and face her captor.

"Now listen here carefully, Monster. You killed two of our scouts. The beasts in the last town back who did that we had stretched and tied to the top of one of the carts to bake in the sun for the day. No food, no water. It's torture to most beasts," Nix said. "What's torture to me though is a wailing child who can't find their mother. So play nice and keep her quiet, and I'll forgive you this once, otherwise I can always put _her_ up there instead."

Minerva growled. "You vermin are scum."

"I don't know what world you're living in," Nix said with a snort, "but everybeast is scum. You're going to find that out quick in the Crater." Minerva gasped as the collar fell from her neck. The marteness passed it and the chains to the weasel. "Put those back in storage and tell everybeast we're done here. It's time to go home."

The marten strode away then, leaving Minerva alone.

The otterwife groaned, rubbing at her sore neck. She walked to the center of the cart and leaned down to inspect the spike in the floor. It was firmly nailed down and, no matter how hard she pulled on it or the chain, neither budged. And where would she have gone if it had? If what Nix had said was true, then the boars would be on her the moment she tried to run. And with a child...

Minerva slumped to the floor and held her head low in defeat, tears beginning to trickle down her face. She shook them away quickly. Hope may have been gone for the both of them, but she had to stay strong for Fable's sake. "It's gonna be okay, sweetheart, it's gonna be okay. I won't let nothin' happen t' ye," she rehearsed, stroking her daughter's head and holding her close.

From the edge of her vision, Minerva caught sight of another slave kneeling in the grass near the cart. The beast, a female stoat, stared at her and Fable as if in a trance. "Keep yer eyes t' yerself, vermin," the otter growled at her.

The trance was broken then and the stoat blinked twice before scowling at her and turning away. Minerva glared at her a moment longer before looking back to her daughter.

The cart shifted with a slight weight as another beast climbed within it. It was a vole carrying a quill and bottle of ink in her paws, and wearing a dark linen cloak with intricate golden designs of poppy flowers stitched along its hem that the otterwife couldn't help but admire. Seeing though that she wore no chains, Minerva remembered Jenson and protectively pulled Fable closer.

"Are ye one of them?" she growled.

"I'm not wearing blue, am I?" the vole answered. "No, I'm a prisoner like you. My name is Adeen Tullus. That marten, Nix, caught sight of my tools, so I'm tasked with taking inventory. It's not so bad, I suppose. It staves off boredom and helps me know my fellow captives. May I know you?"

The otter stared at Adeen suspiciously before sighing. "Minerva," she answered. The vole pulled a scroll from the bandolier she wore and unfurled it, before dipping her quill in ink and beginning to write. Several seconds passed as the scribe scratched her quill against the parchment, dipping its point into her ink well multiple times. More seconds passed, and Minerva spoke. "I'm not really the learned type, but even I know my name don't take that long t' write."

"My apologies. If a beast has a title, I was told to include it as well," Adeen answered.

"A title?"

"Yes. You _are_ the Monster of Mossflower Woods, correct?" she said, more of a statement than a question. The vole continued writing, speaking as she did, "On nights when my twins fussed, it was always tales of the Monster that stilled them." She paused there, staring at her inkwell in silence for a few moments before setting it to the side. "The Monster of Mossflower was the first queen of the forest, before Martin took up the sword, before vermin were vermin and woodlanders were woodlanders. She shared its bounty with nobeast, and decorated her boundaries with fallen poachers. Tired of losing their hunters, the goodbeasts of the plains banded _together_ and took back Mossflower tree by tree. Though defeated, the goodbeasts showed mercy and left her one last grove which she jealously guards. Those who wander near are taken...or worse."

Minerva couldn't help but smile at the sheer enthusiasm in the vole's words.

"But some days, 'days like this one', her hunger for revenge swells, and she searches for naughty pups who stray from their parents. 'So, hold my paw, little ones, and mind your manners, lest the Monster decide to come for you tonight,'" Adeen finished. "That was my version at least. Others had different stories, though I'm sure none ever even considered you were just an otter, and a mother at that."

"Aye, that was the idea. It kept beasts away, kept us safe for a good long time. Until now at least." Minerva looked over the vole and asked a question of her own. "Did these scum take your children as well?"

"No."

"That's good t' hear," Minerva said with a sigh of relief.

"No," the vole said again. "They've passed."

"Oh," the otter said, shamefully looking away. "I didn't realize. I'm... I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Adeen picked up her quill. "May I ask your age?"

"Thirty-two."

"Height?"

"Three taillengths."

"Weight?"

"What sort of slavers need to know my weight?" Minerva asked. Remembering what Nix told her, the otter asked another question. "That marten said we were bein' taken to the Crater? What's the Crater? Who are these beasts? Do ye know?"

"Have you not heard of it?" Adeen wondered. "It's a grisly place- an arena- ran by a beast named Nire Borean. Every season his scouts search for reputable beasts, strong fighters and the like, so that they may be captured and made to fight one another to the death."

Tearing beasts from their lives and homes to fight to the death? What sort of evil beast would do that? Slavery was heinous but Minerva at least understood the purpose. What purpose did this serve?

Minerva asked the question on her mind.

"Entertainment. From Southsward to the Highlands, beasts travel to see the show Nire's 'gladiators' put on. Some to cheer for the winners and champions, others... to watch beasts fall," the vole explained. "The spectacle fills Nire's pockets as his fighters fill graves."

"Fills his pockets with what?"

Adeen looked towards the otter in confusion. "Copper, silver, gold. Money."

Minerva furrowed her brow. "What's money?"

Adeen gave her the same look. "How long have you been in those woods?"

Before the otterwife could answer, a blue-uniformed rat beat on the side of the cart and shouted towards Adeen. "Oy! We're movin', mud mouse! Finish yer bus'ness and report back t' Commander Nix afore I put ye back in chains and drag ye there myself."

The vole turned to Minerva and began to pack away her tools. "I must go. They won't make you walk until the morning so, I'd suggest you try and sleep now before your child wakes. It'll be hard to carry her when she tires if you're just as exhausted."

"Wait!" Minerva called. She held Fable tight to her chest. "And what about her? I can fight. But her? She's hardly more than a babe."

Adeen paused mid pack and visibly gave the matter some thought.

"I don't know. Stay strong and keep her close for now."

Without another word, the vole left her alone.

Minerva slumped back down to the floor of the cart and stroked Fable's head. Cradling the young otter, she remembered just how tired that dart had made her. Adeen was right. She needed to sleep so that she could stay strong.

But despite the fact that her daughter slept now in ignorance to their troubles, Minerva knew as she let her eyelids slip closed that it would be her having nightmares this night.

* * *

Fable's eyelids fluttered open when the morning sun was just beginning to crest the horizon. "Good mornin', young 'un. Did ye sleep well?" Minerva stroked her daughter's head as she yawned and looked around her.

"Where are we?" she mumbled, seeing the cart walls.

Minerva felt a light tug at the chain on her leg, turning to see a blue-wearing beast looking at her expectantly. The otterwife looked back at the young otter and smiled. "We're goin' on a little trip."

The weeks following were long and tiring as the slavers led their charges towards the Crater. From dawn to dusk they were forced to walk while scouts, riding on the backs of boars, circled around the procession and kept guard. Minerva did her best to keep Fable calm during the journey, carrying her when she grew tired, playing guessing games, and telling stories. The stoat slave from before sung quietly to herself, and Minerva copied the tunes of her songs, humming them to her daughter and stroking her head in the times it looked like she was about to cry. In the evenings when they were made to stop, she would take the flowers Fable collected during their walking and sew them quickly to her lapel when nobeast was looking.

All the while, the otter's observant gaze passed over every tree and blade of grass as she searched for anything that she could maybe use to help the both of them escape. But with every step, escape grew to be less of a possibility, and eventually the dreaded Crater came into view and the gates were shut behind them.

"...and what a show you're going to give us."

The words of Nire Borean's speech echoed through Minerva's head as she was yanked roughly to the sandy floor of the arena. Hardly a moment after the lynx finished speaking, Nix's guards swept through the crowd of slaves and began forcing collars around the necks of everybeast who didn't have one. The otterwife jumped back to her feet, biting and snapping at the two guards in front of her who had dared pluck the crying Fable from her grasp and were now forcing one of the collars around her neck. Another beast, clutching a length of chain, desperately held Minerva back as she struggled.

Just before the collar was sealed around her daughter's neck, the otter lurched forward and the chain slipped out from her guard's paws. The other two stumbled backwards in surprise as Minerva rushed towards them and swept Fable tightly into her arms. She wiped away the young one's tears and snarled at the both of them. "Keep yer paws away from my daughter, you scum."

Slaves and guards alike stared slack jawed towards the spectacle as another one of the Crater guards took hold of the otter's leash and tried to yank her back, but Minerva dug her heels into the sand and held firm. More guards rushed towards the scene and somebeast tried to call for another to bring a dart, but then a different voice rose out among the crowd and halted everybeast.

"That's enough."

Nire Borean made his way towards the conflict with a strange mixed look of satisfaction and impatience on his face as his eyes darted between the two struggling beasts. The lynx cocked his head towards Minerva, who clenched her teeth at him and held Fable protectively against her chest. He smiled at the young otter before clasping his paws behind his back and looking to the guard.

"Is there a problem here?"

"Sorry, Mr. Borean. Blasted wench ain't lettin' us collar the young 'un," the guard said, nearly stumbling forward as the chain in his paws was yanked hard by the otterwife.

Nire smiled with curiosity. Turning, he scanned through the crowd of beasts until he found a familiar pine marten. "Commander Nix," he called. "If I may ask, who is this 'blasted wench?' Where did you find her?"

"You won't believe this, sir, but that's the 'Monster of Mossflower Woods'," Nix answered, stepping to his side and crossing her arms.

"You can't be serious." Nire's smiled faltered. "Travelers said that those bodies were ravaged by claws and teeth. How am I supposed to sell that this _otterwife_ is the Monster of Mossflower Woods?"

Nix shook her head. "That 'otterwife' is covered in scars and killed two of my best beasts with a bloody rock."

"And why did nobeast shoot her with a dart?"

"They did."

"Oh. Well... that _is_ interesting," Nire said, clutching his chin in thought. The smile returned as the lynx looked towards the struggling otterwife and the crying child in her arms with a gleam in his eye. "Maybe you won't be so hard to sell after all. In fact, I think I came up with the perfect story.

Nire looked to the guard beside him, still clutching the chain. "Hold that. Don't let her run." The lynx plucked the dagger from the beast's belt and pointed its blade towards three random guards. "You, you, and you..." He tested the sharpness of the blade with a claw. "...bring me the cub."

"What?" Minerva muttered. Immediately the otter turned and struggled against the chain, but three other guards quickly grabbed its end and pulled. She tripped to her knees in the sand and scrambled to grab her daughter, holding her close and covering her underneath her body. Another tug from the chain pulled her off and the three guards seized Fable as she screamed and dragged her towards Nire.

"No, no! Please." Minerva could only watch as the lynx took the screaming child and tickled her chin with the point of the knife.

Nire's smile faded once more, and he spoke in a grave tone as he glared at the otterwife. "Imagine if the Monster of Mossflower Woods had her child stolen from her, taken from this world by the edge of a cruel knife when she rebelled against our scouts. She vows revenge against them and the Crater, but is dragged to the very source of her misery to do battle for the beasts she despises. Yes, that'd be a good story, I think."

Fable shut her eyes and wailed as Nire drew the knife blade towards her neck.

"Please! Don't!" Minerva screamed, tears dripping into the sand. "What do ye want?"

Nire tossed the knife to the side. "I want a good show and _that_ requires cooperation." The lynx passed the young otter over to Nix and then leaned to pick up the fallen collar. "Very soon, this arena will be filled with creatures from Northvale and beyond, all of whom have paid me a lot of money to see you and every other beast here. I simply can't afford delays or inconveniences just because some slave doesn't want to wear their collar. No, I need everybeast to be ready to do exactly as I ask, when I ask.

"Like this." Nire tossed the collar into the sand in front of Minerva. "Put that on your daughter. Now."

Minerva hesitantly took the collar and rose to her footpaws. Trudging towards Fable, she knelt to her level before wiping away the young one's tears with her sleeve. She stroked the back of her head tenderly. "I love you. I'm so sorry." With a click, the otterwife snapped the collar tightly around her daughter's neck.

"Good," Nire said. He then addressed one of the guards. "Get the young one back in line."

"What? No!" Minerva shouted, holding her daughter tightly. "She's stayin' with me."

"If she stays with you, she'll be taken to the gladiator pens and will be treated like a gladiator. She'll have to fight in the arena, and something tells me she won't last long," Nire said. "Let her go."

Fable buried her head in her mother's chest. "I don't wanna go."

"I know. I know, but you have to." Minerva held Fable close and hugged her tightly, knowing well that it could be the very last time she did. "Just do as they ask. Don't cause trouble. Everything will be okay, I promise."

Minerva let go then and painful memories stirred within her as Fable was taken away into the crowd, with no way of knowing if she would ever see her again. It was an all too familiar sight and a pit hollowed in the otter's stomach as she remembered that fateful moment. Raising her paw to her neck, she felt an emptiness.

Realizing what it was that was missing, she turned to Nire. "If ye want me t' play yer game. There's somethin' I need."

"And what is that?" Nire asked.

"That marten, Nix, took somethin' of mine. I want it back."

Nire rolled his eyes. "Nix, if you would kindly return her possessions."

The pine marten reached into her pocket and pulled out Minerva's silver fishhook. "It was sharp. She could have taken out somebeast's eye. You're just gonna let her have it?"

"Please. What sort of damage could she do with that? Besides, I'm sure she won't try anything silly like that. Will you?" Nire asked with a chuckle.

Minerva shook her head and snatched the cord away from Nix. She growled at Nire. "If you hurt her-"

"Will you give me a reason to?" Nire warned. "Or will you play your part?"

Minerva was quiet, considering. "And what is my part?"

"You're the Monster of Mossflower Woods. When beasts fill the seats of the Crater, I want you to live up to that name. Give them a show to remember. But most importantly..."

Minerva tied her fishhook tightly around her neck.

"...I want to hear them chant your name."


	8. The Second Heartbeat

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **The Second Heartbeat**

 _By: Kentrith Hapley_

* * *

It was the most beautiful day the north had seen all summer. The gentle breeze strummed the branches, causing the leaves to shush soothingly, while songbirds darted back and forth across the clearing. As if in deliberate mockery, a beam of sunshine filtered straight to the small cottage in the middle of the clearing. Kentrith stood at the door of the cottage, frozen in place. He raised a paw several times to rap, but couldn't quite make himself do it. The tranquil, sunshiny day was not helping his mood.

Nothing seemed to help that anymore.

A lark chirping in the branch hanging over his head seemed to urge him on. He glared at the impudent bird, arguing silently with it. "Fine," he ground out, steeling his nerve. He knocked sharply several times, knowing the occupant would ignore it otherwise.

The door flew open, revealing a stooped fox, with wrinkled clothes and an irritated grimace on his face. Kentrith was shocked at how much older he looked. Spectacles perched on top of the nose, while the muzzle had several wrinkles.

"Who is it?" he asked grumpily. "What do you want?"

Kentrith couldn't say anything past the lump in his throat. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the crusty creature before him harrumphed and slammed the door.

 _Naturally_ , Kentrith thought. Frustration now fueling him, he pounded on the door. "Bothan, you ingrate, let me in!" He almost smacked him in the muzzle when the door whipped open again.

"How do you know my name?" Bothan barked, eyes now narrowed. A knife appeared from somewhere in the severely patched trousers, and was waved haphazardly before Kentrith's nose. "Who are you?"

"Brother," Kentrith faltered, clasping his paw over the other's, stilling the wobbling knife. "Don't you know me?" He looked down at the dirty clothes he wore, much like the ones he had worn the last time he visited. Perhaps even the same ones. His ears tipped in embarrassment.

Bothan eyed him up and down, squinting. "I don't…" His ears pinned back as his weak eyes widened. "Kentrith?"

Kentrith half-smiled. "Aye." He released the other's paw, stepped back, and waited, dread weighting his limbs.

Bothan huffed. "Well, don't stand there, get inside." He backed into the gloomy cottage, waving Kentrith on.

After a moment, Kentrith followed him in.

The cottage had changed even less than his older brother. While dark, it practically repelled dust, lined with spotless shelves holding jars, while twine stretched here and there, holding a forest of drying herbs. Three chairs and a massive wooden table comprised the furniture.A quick peek into the storeroom showed a dessicated wheel of cheese, a small sack of wrinkly potatoes, and a moldy loaf of bread.

 _At least he's eating,_ Kentrith thought wryly. Fresh guilt caused him to swallow, and turn his attention to his brother

Bothan waved him to a chair, then shambled over to the ever-present tea-pot. He didn't bother asking if Kentrith wanted any, he simply poured water into it and hung it over the fire. He snatched two earthen cups from a cupboard, which held a plate and one more cup. He pulled jars down and tipped the contents into the two cups, and stripped a leaf or two from hanks of dried herbs brushing his ears. Kentrith watched this ritual, and cleared his throat, his attention caught by the last cup. "So…. How is Horath?"

Bothan snorted, his back still turned. "Haven't heard from him for…." He paused, and Kentrith could hear the frown he must be wearing. "Well, several years, anyway."

"What happened?"

The herbalist moved the teapot off of the fire, carefully pouring boiling water into each cup. "He wouldn't tell me much. He stopped by briefly to give me supplies, mentioned that he might be out of touch for a while, and dashed away." Bothan stirred the cups, sighing. "It was much quicker than his usual visit."

Kentrith frowned. "I wonder what frightened him so," he murmured.

Bothan's snort this time was nearly a guffaw. "Three days later an enraged clan of weasels showed up, demanding his head. Apparently, he had sold them my nerve tea, the one to relax a beast enough to sleep, which I might add they desperately needed, if their agitation was any indication of their normal tendencies." An amorphous lump of sugar was added to each cup, and stirred in. "He had neglected to ask about sensitivities to certain plants. Their chief expired from lack of air, due to a sensitivity to chamomile." He turned his head to meet Kentrith's eyes, a hint of humor in his own. "They were understandably displeased."

Kentrith laughed out loud. "Of course! He always did take after Mother the most!"

Bothan's humor vanished, and the spoons were snapped to the table rather forcefully. "At least he didn't get himself killed," he ground out.

Kentrith was quiet for a long moment. His anger at their mother had faded long ago. Obviously Bothan's hadn't. "Well, perhaps he will be back, after the furor has died down." He was slightly disappointed, having hoped to see Horath as well.

At last, a steaming, fragrant cup was handed to him, and Bothan grumpily pulled up his own chair. "Drink it," he ordered. "It will help with the ache in your joints and ear." His eyes flicked briefly to Kentrith, then away. "Or what's left of it."

Shaking his head, Kentrith gulped at the scalding brew. Bothan would get testy if he waited for it to cool. "How did you guess?" Bothan's gifts with herbs had bordered on the supernatural. After another painful gulp, he added, "Thank you."

Bothan slumped across from Kentrith, nursing his own cup. "It wasn't that hard," he retorted, his voice sharp with disdain. "Missing ear, multiple scars on your arms, I can see where your wrist has been broken at least twice, and your tail had a strip skinned off."

Kentrith looked behind at the afflicted appendage, then chuckled. "Yes, the fur never did grow back quite right."

There was silence for several moments, as Kentrith fidgeted, unsure where to go from there. Bothan finally sighed, and said, "It seems to be an age since you visited my little hut, here. Much longer than Horath. How long has it been, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," Kentrith temporized. After another second, he finally admitted, "Twelve years."

"Hmph. Not imagining it, then," was all Bothan said. He heaved a sigh, then looked up. "It took you twelve years to see me, and it's obvious you've been through quite a bit." His normally dreamy eyes seemed to pierce Kentrith. "Why are you here now?"

Kentrith sighed, then carefully set the cup down on the table next to him. "Can't I visit my brother?"

Bothan merely raised a skeptical brow. Kentrith snorted, then admitted, "I felt… guilty, about not seeing you for so long."

"And?"

He glared at Bothan. "I'm not sure I'll be back," he ground out. "I might…. I have to try." He stuttered to a stop, unable to form the words he needed to make his brother understand.

Silence rang through the simple cottage. Bothan placed his cup next to Kentrith's with deliberation, then stood and started pulling more jars and herbs down.

Kentrith rose slowly, and shuffled over to the table where the pile of ingredients was growing. "What are you doing?" he finally asked.

"Making up a kit," was the short reply.

"Bothan," Kentrith pleaded, but his brother interrupted.

"I don't know where you've been for the last several years," the usually mild-mannered herbalist barked, scraping green bits into his mortar. "I don't know what struggles you've been through, although I'm sure there are more than are evidenced by your scars. But if my little brother is going to face difficulties, then by Hell Gates, he's going to go prepared!" The emphatic jabs with the pestle stilled. "Then at least you'll have something to remember me by."

Kentrith stared at the small cloth sacks that slowly filled with powders, pastes, and vials. "I'll run out," he protested, weakly.

Bothan looked up with a small smile. "Then you'll have to come back and get more."

He quickly tied up the little sacks and arranged them in a satchel. For several moments, he stared at it, then turned to Kentrith, a strange look on his face. Hesitantly he asked, "What… else would you like me to add?"

* * *

Kentrith's path through the city of Northvale was riddled with vendors, milling customers, and memories. Undulating masses moved around him, flowing with the lifeblood of the river port. His favorite herb shop had been replaced by a clothes merchant (the herbs were never as good as Bothan's, but had sufficed when the need arose). Curios, keepsakes, and match posters flew off the counter as fast as the shopkeeper slapped them down. The pie hawker seemed older, but just as persistent. He called out as Kentrith passed.

"It's the Crane! The Crane has returned!"

"Will we see you in the ring again?" called the leather worker, Harbin.

Kentrith merely nodded to both, trying to keep the dread from showing on his face. Every step he took toward the Crater seemed to drag a little more, his stomach sliding closer to his footpaws. The smell of metal, oil, and working beasts swirled in his nostrils, causing his lip to curl, and his ears crept closer to his skull, despite his efforts to seem nonchalant. His first view of the gate to the Crater caused his breathing to stutter, and he came to halt. He stared up at the simple oak portals, trying to get his emotions under control. "You're stronger than this," he muttered to himself. "They thought they had broken you. You are not broken. You can do this."

Slowly, he tamed his rebelling body, taking deep breaths to slow his heart and stop the shaking in his limbs. He forced an uptilt to his mouth, so that he wouldn't look unhappy, and perked his ears, forcing them to stay upright. Out of habit, he touched the ragged edge of the remnants of his left ear, feeling the hardened tissue where the blade had sliced through, catching as it always did on the gnarl where he'd had to lance it to release the discharge from infection.

Shaking himself out of the reverie, he strode to the bell-pull at the side of the door. A deep, ringing note reverberated through the street around him, and he could feel the curious glances of the other beasts around him. As the doors groaned open, he wondered if those who volunteered were rare or not. There had been more slaves in the ring than free when he had been here last.

Two beasts in blue stood in the now open doorway. They carried spears and identical sneers. The ferret stepped forward and lifted his spear menacingly. "A volunteer, eh?" he grunted, baring his sharp teeth. "Well, you've missed the parade!"

Clearing his throat, Kentrith tried, "Been quite a few volunteers?"

The female rat had stepped up, level with her partner. She laughed. "I'll say," she grinned. "The fame of this place has been spreading! Many beasts want to test their mettle!"

Kentrith couldn't argue with that. "I need to speak with Nire," he interjected, hoping that this painful detour into small talk would be cut off by a change in subject.

The rat only laughed harder. "See Nire? Are you insane?" She bent almost double with hilarity, guffawing in loud brays. Frowning, the ferret pounded her on the back to enable better breathing, and finished for her, "Nire is a very busy, very IMPORTANT beast. He can't be bothered to see every fighter that walks through the door."

"Look here!" Kentrith barked, suddenly fed up. He grabbed the spear close to the head, and jerked. When the shocked ferret stumbled closer, Kentrith wrapped his paw in the shirt and yanked him up. The hapless soldier's footpaws dangled, not quite touching the ground. Kentrith snapped, "I don't have any patience for your lies. He doesn't have time, you say? He will make time! You will take me to the lounge, then you will tell Nire that Kentrith Hapley is back." He pressed his snout against the ferret's terrified face and snarled, "Need me to repeat anything?"

The ferret shook his head jerkily, and Kentrith dropped him to the dust.

* * *

He didn't have to wait very long. He had barely sat down on one of the padded benches in the front chamber when four soldiers arrived. They were much more alert than the two at the gate had been, and Kentrith didn't waste time with questions. He hastily joined them, and they slipped into formation as they marched down the passageway, two stationed behind his back. They moved down the hall, their pawsteps brisk and unflinching.

They stopped at a plain wooden door, which one soldier knocked upon. Being told to enter, he opened the door and waved Kentrith in alone.

He glanced around the room. The same shabby rug lay on the floor, if a little shabbier. There were several more paintings on the walls, and smoking torches had been replaced with glass-paned lanterns. Chairs lined the left hand wall, while the massive table in the middle of the room displayed the usual confusion of maps, messages, and advertisements. The window that looked down upon the training grounds had new shutters, of a different design than he remembered, with slats that slanted slightly.

Behind the table, facing the door, stood Nire. He hadn't changed much, either. A few more gray hairs dotted his muzzle, but his tufted ears still retained their dark-furred edges, and his fur remained as groomed as ever. His clothes were new, with trousers, a clean white shirt with embroidered swords at the cuffs and collar, and a blue vest.

Well, at least his first fight wouldn't be public.

Nire looked up from the message he had been reading, and smiled slightly, allowing a teasing glimpse of fang. "Kentrith, my old friend. This is certainly a surprise."

His eyes flicked briefly over Kentrith, taking in his thinner stature, scruffy fur, and worn clothes. Embarrassed, Kentrith clasped his paws behind his back and sternly ordered his footpaws to stay still. Nire smirked again, then continued, "I do believe you swore you would never step footpaw back in the arena, or Northvale for that matter." He lost the smirk, his amber eyes crystallizing as he examined Kentrith. "What brings you back?" The hint of menace sent a thrill through Kentrith.

He straightened, and cleared his throat. "I…" he coughed, then swallowed, looking down at the floor. Breathing deep, he looked up again, forcing out, "I couldn't find another place for me." He twisted his paws behind his back, fidgeting. "This place, this…work, is what I'm good for." He tilted his head, trying not to tremble. "I missed it." He kept his breathing even and his gaze pinned on Nire.

The lynx smiled, then dropped the message on the table. He came over, and clapped a paw on Kentrith's shoulder. "I hoped you would see it that way. You were one of the best, I'll admit. I can't wait to see you in action again!" He grinned even wider, and added, "Should we arrange a bout, for old time's sake? Just to refresh your memory. I have another potential volunteer who should see how it works."

Kentrith felt his lungs release, and he spread a wide smile over his own muzzle. The relief that flooded him aided in widening the smile he forced. He had never been the best liar. "Of course," he replied, mentally fortifying himself for the ordeal to come. A match to test his worth as a contestant was no surprise.

Nire clapped his shoulder again, and then made shooing motions at the door. "We'll discuss your position after the fight. I don't need another healer," here he winked, "but I imagine we could use you as a trainer. Many of the slaves will need more instruction."

As he waved Kentrith out the door, the fox glanced back at him, suddenly nervous. The lynx was still smiling, but there was a hint of suspicion there too. Kentrith would have to watch his step carefully.

His escort waited for him outside the office. They quickly ushered him to the armory and waited impassively while Kentrith searched the wall for the weapon he knew best. He had already secured the other to his right wrist. Spotting it displayed on the wall, he pulled it down, irritation flaring. Kentrith studied the ax he now held in his paws, unchanged since he had thrown it down in the arena that last time. The head, at least, had been ground and polished, with no nick or mar to the bright metal. The haft, however was chipped and dirty, the cord threaded through the end fraying. If he made it out of this fight, he would have to replace it. He shook his head. Had Nire placed it as a trophy to Kentrith's fighting career? Typical, he thought with a silent sneer.

The beasts in blue took him to a wicker cage that hung above the arena, and gestured him in. The worn planks that formed the floor of the cage were familiar, and a shudder ran through him as the flood of memories tried to take over. He gripped the ax handle tighter, then grabbed one bar of the cage as it jittered, then began to lower. Creaking ropes lowered the cage, and he was able to peer down at the sands approaching. The arena, the center of his life for six seasons, whether healing it's victims, or creating them.

A rush of adrenaline was followed by sickening disgust. How could the thought of harming another creature still excite him?

The opposite side of the cage lifted. He stepped onto the sand, skirting humps and drifts until he reached the middle. A wave of noise crested over him, and he knew that, if not full, the stands held several excited spectators. Of course, he thought sourly. Trust Nire to drum up an audience in a matter of moments.

He looked up at the box that hung halfway down the wall, separated from the rest of the seats by intricately carved railings. He could make out several figures standing in the box. One had pointed ears, undoubtedly Nire, and was crowded by several beasts with flashing jewelry and brightly colored clothes. Kentrith's lip curled. _Vultures, the lot of them._

He raised his ax in a salute, which was returned by the lynx, then with roaring shouts ringing in his ears, he turned to face the other side of the arena. Another cage was being lowered, this one carrying his opponent. As the door slid up and the hulking beast stepped out, he gulped, then cursed inwardly at Nire.

He had pitted him against Direbeast.

The huge badger snarled menacingly, his crazed, red-tinged eyes pinned on Kentrith. Without a preliminary salute, or any warning, the massive scarred creature charged forward. His steps moved erratically, causing him to weave across the sand. The spear, however, aimed dead for Kentrith's gut. Quickly, the fox swiped his ax across, knocking the spear to the side. He spun towards the badger's off hand, ducking to evade a paw-swipe. Skittering back, he scuffed his footpaws in the sand. No pitfalls or abnormalities to trip him yet. Direbeast, unfazed by Kentrith's dodge, whipped his spear around. He began a series of jabs, aiming for legs, arms, and torso. Kentrith redirected most, blocking with the ax in his left paw. He deflected with his open right.

Kentrith began to panic slightly. It had been at least five years since he had fought anyone. Drawing the pain-crazed monster of the arena first thing did not bode well. He had to end the fight quickly, or he would be worn down.

And stabbed to death. Strong motivation indeed.

Slipping the haft of the ax through his paw until he grasped the end, he grabbed the spear with the other, catching the edge of the blade. Gritting his teeth, he jerked the spear up and toward him. The huge beast was only slightly off balance, but it was enough. Kentrith swung the ax at a footpaw, catching the top of the black-furred appendage.

Direbeast bellowed, and yanked hard at the trapped spear. Kentrith didn't fight for it, and the badger staggered back. Kentrith moved in grimly, and swept the spear up. Clasping the ax with both paws, he struck for the legs. Once. Twice. The beast was down now, but still snarling, jabbing with the spear. Kentrith hopped over one of the jabs, and swung the ax again, slicing the forearm and severing the main tendon.

Down went the spear, but still Direbeast struggled. It reached for the spear, growling still. The grating rumble was hoarser, but the tone hadn't changed. It finally clicked.

Horror, indignation, and remorse flooded through him. He felt like spitting, or screaming….

Habit took over. Throwing his arms out, he tilted his head back, a mournful cry bursting out. "Why?!" he wailed, his pitch rising and voice cracking. He snapped his gaze to Nire, narrowing his eyes as the lynx, smirking, made some comments to the older hare standing beside him. He had done this on purpose! Enraged, he swung the ax in a circle and cast it behind him, timing the release so that the blade bit the sand.

Cries of "The Crane! The Crane has returned!" rang in his ears as he stalked over to the creature. It whined and thrashed, still reaching for the fallen weapon. Horror caused his joints to lock, but the paw changed directions, straining for him, and he had to move. Forcing his paws not to shake, he flicked his right wrist. His folding scalpel slid to his paw, and with another snick, he opened it. He knelt by the prone, writhing creature and quickly slid the small blade into his neck.

He heard the roar of the crowd as if from a distance as he stared at the pitiful pile of fur, muscle, and scar tissue. Many of the ridges and rippled skin left from a long ago fire were inflamed, testifying to the agony of the maddened beast. Memories of treating those same scars, of hours spent over salves and teas to ease the great beast's torment seemed to throb in his very bones, clashing with the tide of adulation from the stands. The throbbing grew stronger, in cadence with his heartbeat.

With gritted teeth, he tamped down on the memories that pulsed in discordance with the cheering crowd, crushing it until the healer was smothered. He could not be a healer now, may never be again.

The Crane had returned.


	9. Redwall Rhapsody

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Redwall Rhapsody**

 _By: Kali_

* * *

With a stiff yawn Kali emerged from slumber as light drifted through the barn window. First one wing stretched, then the other, gingerly rolling out a kink in her neck before she descended from the rafters.

The hayloft was as glamorous as it sounded, filled with rusted and dirty belongings the owner had nowhere else to keep. A pleasant aroma of boar drifted up to the top of the loft, assaulting the bat's sense of smell.

"One of these days I will have to try a bed," Kali said to the empty room, popping her back, "A big fancy bed with feather pillows." Smacking dry lips, Kali glanced at an old cracked mirror that had been left to rot along with other relics. She ran a wingtip between her ears to in a futile attempt to subdue her unruly head fur, then shrugged and simply plopped on her hat.

Kali stole a moment to smooth out the fur of her body, running both wings down the sides of her orange chest and making a sour face upon reaching the curve of her stomach. What the city lacked in fresh fruit it more than made up for in sweet desserts, and it was beginning to show on her figure.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse. I could still be showing off my ribs." she said while grabbing for her tunic. It was a green thing with the sides slashed to accommodate her wings, ending in a V shape between her legs.

And totally unable to fit over her red floppy hat. With a roll of her eyes the bat took off her cap and put on her tunic.

Afterward, Kali used both wing tips to prop up her own smile. "Today is going to be a good day," Kali said to the mirror. "You are going to do great things today. You are going to land yourself the most amaaaazing job. You are going to find someone who appreciates you for who you are and loves your music and then you will move into a real fancy house. Yes sir-eeee."

Taking a deep breath Kali began to repeat herself for extra moral support. "Today is -"

In the corner of the mirror, just over her shoulder, Kali caught a glimpse of another beast's head coming up the ladder to the loft. The eyes of the young rat bulged as much as Kali's with fright. "Oh, hiiiiiii there! Um, fancy meeting you here?" Kali managed to laugh nervously.

The rat squeaked, falling backward into the barn below before Kali could catch him. She leaped to the side of the loft to make sure he was okay but the rat was already on his feet dashing out the door screaming, "Mum! Dad! There's a monster in our barn!"

"And on that cue…" Kali turned for her belongings. Thankfully there was not much to toss into her backpack. In went her spare clothes and souvenirs before she grabbed the lute and glided for the door. "Thank you for your hospitality!" She shouted, flying off just as the farmer came rushing out of his house.

Taking to the air Kali soared high above the landscape, catching a thermal on the way to make the journey easier. Woodlands passed below the bat's shadow. While spring was in the air the mountains in the distant north were still lined with snow. A river ran deep and wide under Kali. They said it ran all the way to the ocean but she only ever followed it as far as Northvale.

It was the largest city for _miles_ in any direction, spilling out along the river like a forest of small houses. One could only appreciate the labor that went into the city's design when one viewed it from the air.

An endless web of streets made finding new places for construction easy and each path was wide enough to fit two carts side by side. The city was divided into blocks to make it easier to maneuver while making it harder for potential fires to spread too quickly. Ships came and went easily through the neatly arranged docks by the river, dropping off timber and stone and living resources like slaves and livestock.

And all roads led to the Arena; a colossal super structure built into the Crater. Most of the work was done by nature itself, smiting the land long ago when a star fell from the sky. Only the top portion of the arena's walls could be seen cresting the edge of the Crater.

Kali descended quickly into the heart of the city, landing in a back ally of the town square where she would be out of the way of the crowds.

Kali tossed the backpack to the ground. A moment of searching provided a soft purple sash that she tied around her waist like a belt for her tunic. It may have bound her wings a bit but it kept the bat decent if she decided to hang upside down. Given the type of beasts who frequented this city Kali doubted they would raise an objection, but either way you could not play a lute with your clothes flapping down over your face.

Throwing her backpack back over her shoulder, Kali said, "Great things Kali. You are going to do great things." Even with her wings constricted to her waist Kali managed to gain enough altitude to glide over the sea of beasts flooding the market place. Most were what the locals called 'Vermin'. Foxes, stoats, weasels, and rats with the occasional pine marten.

Like Inkpaw.

The baker made a panicked squeak, paws racing to steady his shaking cart. He glanced upward, eyes narrowed at the cheeky smile of the bat perched above him. "Kali, what have I said about clinging to the side of my cart?"

"That you are completely fine with it?" A wry smile appeared on Kali's lips. She hopped down when the marten gave her a 'shooing' motion with his hand.

Kali bounced from paw to paw excitedly as the marten reached into his cart laden with freshly baked goods. Her mouth watered at the sight of so many pastries, deserts, and breads.

"Here you go." He said, holding a bag in the black furred paw that inspired the name given to him by unimaginative parents. "Paid in full for yesterday."

Kali's initial delight was subdued as she hoisted the rather small bag in her wings. "Um, Inkpaw, you aren't trying to short change me by any chance?"

The marten feigned shock, "Me? The greedy merchant short changing a valued customer? Who would have ever thought?" The beast held up his paws defensively at the look Kali shot him. "Hey, don't blame me. You know the deal; a scone for every beast you send my way, and yesterday only three beasts told me about you."

"But I told at least ten beasts about you!" Kali protested with a loud whine, wings clutching the side of the baker's cart. The marten however only shrugged as if to say, 'deal with it.' Kali gave him such a scowl but it was short lived. A pastry in the wing was worth more than two on the cart.

"Anyway, I came by to tell you that I won't be able to advertise for your bakery today becaaaaause I got 'this'!" Kali's grin split her muzzle from ear to ear. Setting the rest of her breakfast on the cart she dug into her backpack to produce a small flyer. The picture on the flyer was buried under wine stains but the Crater was still clear as day.

The marten responded with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

"It's a flier." Kali explained, "Of the arena." She bounced the paper in her wing tips back and forth, waiting for the marten to share in her glee. "They need a bard."

This caused the marten to raise the other eyebrow, "You really want a job with the arena?" To which Kali vigorously nodded her head. "You…do know what happens in the arena right, Kali?"

"No holds barred blood sport." Kali said with wide-eyed optimism. She laughed off the marten's worried stare, "I've played in many a tavern with a fighting pit so I have seen beasts bloodied before. If that is what you are worried about."

"Riiiight," He said slowly, "But I thought you already had a job. Working at the, uh…"

"The Gilded Gladiator." Kali rolled up the wine stained flyer, "We had a disagreement about my artistic expression."

"Ah, you sang for them," The marten said as if this explained everything.

"I sang for _all_ of them," Kali said as if this too explained everything.

"I don't understand why you don't just stick with the lute." The marten gestured with his paw, "You are good at the lute."

"Because I am also good with my voice." Kali smiled, "Just because someone doesn't like a type of pastry you make, does that mean you stop making them?"

The marten thought on this. For about two seconds, "If enough people don't like them, yes. But not forever." Tilting her head curiously Kali let Inkpaw explain, "I start out with something they like. And I keep baking the other pastries for myself, perfecting the art until beasts are ready to eat something different." The marten concluded by turning to another customer while waving her off "I hope it goes well. Just remember to tell everyone about my bakery when you become rich and famous," he said, voice laden with sarcasm.

"Ha! You bet I will!" Wings out stretched she stepped backwards, "And then I am going to come back and eat all your pastries to my heart's content. ALL of them!"

Kali was still smiling as she moved away from the market even though inwardly her heart was racing.

Would there be a line? Would they even still be looking for bard at this point? That flyer did look old. _Would they even hire her?_

Unslinging her lute from over her shoulder Kali began to strum away while walking through the city. The gentle tune helped ease away many of the thoughts troubling her mind, but one chose to remain no matter what she did.

 _Until beasts are ready to try something different._

It didn't take a philosopher to know what the marten was talking about and she couldn't deny that it made sense. A fact which made Kali strum away at her lute even harder. She certainly would be doing better financially if she just kept her muzzle shut as she played but…

"It's not about the money." She said aloud, very much aware of how light her money bag felt inside her backpack. She grimaced, "Ok, maybe it's a little bit about the money…" She admitted.

Around her the streets became narrower as they branched off from the main road. The further the bat traveled from the marketplace the more the buildings around her turned residential. The houses started small but gradually grew to more extravagant sizes the closer she got to the arena. The wealthier neighborhoods were hidden away behind iron gates, guarded by armed beasts both day and night.

And then there was the arena.

The houses came to an abrupt stop, separated from the arena by a wide cobblestone concourse running around the entirety of the crater's outer wall and it's many decorative gardens.

The area was not new to the bat. Although Kali could never afford to enter the arena itself, she had played outside for the crowds it drew.

Those who could afford the fee of selling merchandise here peddled luxuries and souvenirs. More than one stall sold silver replicas of the Arena, others had wood carved figures of Gladiators. It was a mass sea of merchants and customers so thick that Kali could hardly see the arena gates.

"Time to get some altitude on this mess," thought the bat as she wrapped her lute over her shoulder. She worked her way to the edge of the crowd for more room before spreading her wings and-

 _THWAP!_

Kali turned to the beast right as he let out a bewildered grunt. "Oh I'm so sorry! Did I catch you there?" She used her wings to try and steady the beast even if he probably just wanted to get away from the same leathery limbs that hit him on the nose.

"Ach, dinnae worry aboot it…er…" The hare paused mid-sentence. Kali could see the look in his eye. By now Kali was used to that moment when beasts realized they had no idea what they were looking at. Her head screamed 'fox', her body said 'woodlander'.

In the end, the hare settled on 'Lass' and shrugged off her attempts to help him. "It happens." He chuckled in politeness then leaned forward to grab his fallen feathered cap only to find Kali swiping it off the ground first. "Let me give you a paw with that, seeing as how I knocked it off and all." She dusted it off despite the hare's protest.

"It's nae a problem Miss, uh—" Kentigern hesitated again.

"Kali. The Amaaaazing Kali."

"Miss Kali…"

"Amaaaaaaaazing Kali."

The hare raised an eyebrow, chuckling as he plucked the cap from Kali's wings. "Yer nae from around here are ye?"

Kali nodded, "You could say that. I'm here to grab a job from the arena!"

With a wry smile the hare replied, "Are ye now? Then ye might wanna trade that lute fer a sword if ye want tae be competing in the games."

A look of confusion spread across Kali's face but only for a moment. "Ha! Hardly! I'm a bard, not a barbarian." This too caused the hare to chuckle.

"Ah, a bard. That explains it. Ah've ken'd more'n a wee number o' bards mahself. An' ye've met one bard, ye've met them all." Finishing the last adjustment to his cap the kilted hare leaned backwards, crossing his arms as he looked the bat up and down once again. "Where, exactly are ye from then?"

Kali smiled. "You know the edge of the map that says 'here there be monsters'? That is what we put on _our_ maps for _this_ place."

"So yer from a ways away. How did ye ever find yerself o'er here?" The bat laughed at the hare's question before replying,

"Very carefully. Through many ships, a few storms to blow me off course, and one time even on the back of a magical badger riding a rainbow. Although that last one might have had something to do with a bad batch of mangos I picked up in the far east." Kali said, rubbing her chin with her wing tip.

This elicited a long awkward pause. The hare broke the silence with a loud hearty laugh. "Ach, yer a bard fer sure. Ah'm sure ye'll fit in just fine around here."

Kali chirped softly, "Thanks! Say, would you like to hear a song of my homeland?" Kali said with barely contained hopefulness.

Stroking the fur about his chin the hare said, "Ah dinnae see why not."

Letting out a shout of glee Kali unslung her lute. The music started immediately and for a brief instant the street was transported to the deepest parts of the jungle on a far-off island.

One filled with the horrible screech of a dying wolverine.

The music came to an abrupt halt as Kali found a finger pressed against her nose. "On second thought, why dinnae we save the song fer later, eh, lass? We dinnae want tae ruin yer voice before gettin' inside, aye?"

The bat's ears flattened slightly but she nodded with a smile. "That makes sense." And so, the lute went back over her shoulder. "It was nice meeting you, uh…"

"MacRaff. Kentigern MacRaff."

"Thank you for the chat Mr. MacRaff, but destiny awaits." She said, preparing to take off into the sky.

Realizing what the bat was about to do MacRaff quickly asked, "Er, lassie, should ye nae use the gate?"

"HA! Nature didn't give the Amazing Kali wings to use gates!" It would be painfully easy to just hop up and over the wall for the bat. So much so she wondered why she never thought to do this before. Oh, the number of games she could have seen!

Barely a foot above the street Kali saw a dark shadow pass over her. The sight of a hawk patrolling the skies above the arena caused Kali to squeak with terror. The bird flying patrol encompassed every notion of the term 'bird of prey'; sleek, powerful, and _deadly_.

"Or you know, waiting in line isn't so bad." Kali dropped back down to the street before bidding the strange sounding hare farewell with a wave of her wing. She would have liked to stay and chat but she was eager to put some cover between her and the hawk.

Nothing was going to stop her from reaching her destiny.

* * *

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE NOT HIRING?!" The bat's shout echoed down the hallway making the weasel flinch.

"I'm sorry Miss but, we are not hiring for a bard. I'm not sure why you would think…" Kali pointed to the flyer she got from the tavern, letting her fierce batty stare do all the talking for her. "Ah, yes. That. I'm afraid those are a bit out of date. We just hired a bard a week ago and Master Nire won't be hiring another for a while. I'm sorry for wasting your time but I must get back to my duties." Making sure Kali's hopes and dreams were not blocking the door the weasel then locked his office. He nodded politely to Kali while shuffling past her and down the hall.

Kali rested her head against his office door. _So..._ , she thought, _Here we are._ ** _Again_**. How many times had she faced rejection? How many taverns, how many Inns, how many lords and ladies did she play her tunes for from here to her homeland? How many times would she face rejection before she got the hint that the universe was trying to send her a message.

There was no hope.

" **No.** " Kali slammed her winged fist against the door. "No! You get your weasely butt back here! I'm not **DONE** with you." She pointed and signaled for the beast to come closer. Instead the weasel gulped and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Kali blinked, slapping her forehead. "Brilliant bat, just brilliant! Yes, let's scare them into hiring you, because that will work so _well_." Regardless Kali chased down the weasel. She was riding the high from bouncing back from rock bottom and even if they ended up throwing her out she was going to make sure they threw her out in _style_.

"Wait! I just want to talk with you! Just hear me out!"

This only made the weasel run faster, blowing past a pair of blue guards around the next corner. "Help me!" he shouted.

The vermin reacted quickly, reaching for their weapons to leap out at the beast chasing after the manager, until they saw what was chasing him. Both guards ducked low as the blurred figure of Kali swooped in over their heads. "You can hire more than one bard! Just let me talk with you!" It took a moment for the guards to gather their wits. Exchanging shocked glances, the pair set off after Kali who was still chasing the poor weasel.

He screamed when a pair of leathery wings enveloped his upper torso. "I'mSoSorryThisWasATerribleIdeaaaaaaaaaa!" Kali shouted as she landed on the weasel's back, sending him bowling through a pair of spacious double doors. Kali tumbled off him, rolling until her rear ended up over her head. "OwWWwwWWwWWw." She groaned while sitting up. Her eyes went as wide as saucers when she realized where she was.

The room had wealth written all over it. Tapestries and paintings hung over the walls depicting beasts doing unspeakably horrible things to other beasts in the arena. Things which, by their angry and shocked stares, the beasts in this room are more than willing to do to Kali for interrupting their meal.

There were at least a dozen around a large oak table; each dressed in fine leather or silk. Even the servants wore finer garb than Kali. The only beast who came close to resembling her lack of wealth was the bard in the far corner; the fox's red fur clashing with his blue outfit.

All of them stared holes through Kali. "Oh…h-hi there." To her credit Kali did not laugh nervously. Her laughter was well past nervous. If she had a tail it would have curled between her legs _twice_. "Oh would you look at that. I seem to have gotten lost. I will just be going now."

"Guards!" As if the weasel had to shout for them. An instant after the guards appeared Kali felt two pairs of paws clamp down on her wings, twisting them painfully behind her.

"That will be enough." Calmer words had never been said, but they seemed to carry more weight than the loudest shout. The clamor of voices raised across the room fell silent, the grip on Kali's wings lessened but not enough to escape.

"I am so, so sorry Master. She…"

"I said enough." The weasel shut his muzzle tight. All eyes turned to the beast who stood up from the table. Kali had never seen a feline so tall. Sleek golden fur ran down the length of the cat's body that was covered in a fine leather outfit with a blue sash wrapped about his chest. "You know," the lynx stroked his chin as he looked down upon the beast. "I have had many assassins break into this arena, but never any quite as odd as you."

Kali squeaked, "A-assassin? Oh! No. I'm actually here looking for…f-for…" her words trailed off.

"For what?" The beast's sharp command made Kali jump.

"Job! I'm came here looking for a j-job…sir. I'm a bard." The cat looked up to the weasel, raising an eyebrow.

"It… it's true. She came here looking for a job. But then she attacked me!"

"What? I did not! Well, it wasn't…I mean…" Kali whimpered. "I just wanted to talk with you..."

"You call tackling me into Nire's personal dining room _talking_?" the weasel sputtered. He paused again as the feline stifled a chuckle.

"Credit where credit is due miss, you have the style of a bard at least. More style than you had when I hired you, Baxter." He sent a glance at the fox in the back. It was met with narrowed eyes as the beast leaned against the wall, drinking from a goblet of wine.

"It will take more than cheap theatrics to worry me sir."

With a gesture from the cat the guards let Kali up. Her pack and lute are both removed as she was searched for hidden weapons. She made no protest. She could only focus on her own frantic heart beat resounding in her ears. "I'm sorry about the trouble. Really, I am. I just wanted to talk to someone about getting a job here."

"You came to the right place then. You can talk to me. You can call me _Nire_ , but what shall I call you?" Nire's voice was soft, curious. He stepped around the bat slowly, examining Kali from head to toe.

Kali stole a moment to calm herself before replying. She came this far to be a bard, it was time to act like one. "I, Mr. Nire, am the Amaaaazing Kali. Traveling Entertainer and Bard." Nire reached out, gently taking her offer for a hand shake. Instead he began folding out her wing, flexing it back and forth.

"What…are you?"

"Amazing." Kali said happily, her reply causing Nire to smile as she gingerly took back control of her wing.

"Well that much is obvious," Baxter the fox took another swig of wine before gesturing to the bat, "What else can you call a fox spliced together with a rat than simply 'amaaaazing'."

Silence filled the room. Nire made no motion to correct the fox for his insult and the beasts at the table wanted to see how this played out.

Regardless if they were hoping for a battle of wits or not, the fox's insult did nothing to phase the smile of his flying counterpart. "Oh well thank you. It's nice to be appreciated. You look amazing too! Your outfit is so…floofy."

The fox raised an eyebrow, "Floofy?"

"Yes, Floofy. You know. Puffy. Poofy. Puffed up. Maybe I should have tried a floofy outfit. Did it help you get the job? Does that really help?" Kali asked in all seriousness.

"Talent got me my job." The fox growled ever so slightly, "Alas, a job which is now occupied. Isn't that right, Nire?" Free paw on his hip, Baxter the Bold waited for a reply from Nire that never came. The lynx was enamored by the bat's strange appearance. "Please Nire, surely you cannot be seriously thinking about hiring this …abomination of nature."

"Baxter." Nire said gently, "You should go play for the slaves for tonight. It will give you…perspective on what will happen to you the next time you tell me what I cannot do." There was a flash in the lynx's eyes as he turned finally to face Baxter.

Whimpering and ears flat, the fox scurried past the crowd by the door, shooting Kali a spiteful glare before darting from the room. Inwardly Kali felt bad. She didn't mean to get the fox into trouble. She just…wanted to play for someone.

She didn't have the luxury to worry about Baxter's fate for long however. "Now, Miss Kali," The lynx purred, "It looks like I just sent away the entertainment for the evening. I really do hope you can do something _amazing_ for us, yes?"

Kali got the hint. It was time to put her money where her mouth was and perform. Reaching out to the guard beside her, Kali grabbed her lute, spun it into place…

…and played.

Kali closed her eyes, envisioning the song of her homeland, the one that she used with MacRaff. The world faded away, taking the beasts out of the room and depositing them into the jungle. By far it wasn't the best song to ever be played. Kali was so nervous she missed a few beats but carried on in hopes that no one would notice. Her wing tips felt sluggish for some reason as butterflies performed combat maneuvers in her stomach. A stomach she suddenly regretted gorging with scones earlier.

But at the end of the day it didn't matter. She was a bard, no, she was more than that. She was a _bat_. She was this exotic creature come from lands they never dreamed of, coming to play them music they never imagined hearing.

Her hips began to sway, her head bobbing back and forth in line with the beat. And her muzzle opened to pour out her heart in song.

And then promptly snapped shut.

All the voices of those who disliked her music came flooding back to memory all at once. Tavern owners, inn keepers, even the Celtic hare MacRaff telling her to rest her voice.

 _Kali dear_ , Kali heard a more prominent voice in her head from the depths of the past, _Why don't you be a doll and stick to the song writing, eh? We will do the singing. We want to get paid tonight._

Kali choked back a tear. Then another voice, more recent appeared, _…Until beasts are ready to try something different._ With a heavy heart Kali remembered the words of her marten friend, and bit her tongue.

The song continued uninterrupted to its finish.

Glancing about the room as if for the first time Kali felt herself shrink. "Well..." She said timidly. "W-what do you think."

Leaning backward the feline stared at Kali with unblinking eyes. He looked at the beasts behind him before turning again to Kali. "I think you have a job."

Another silence followed. For a long tense moment Kali just stared back at Nire…and then slowly fell backward as she fainted.

* * *

Kali had surely died and gone to heaven. After a splash of water and many reassurances that she was alright Kali took up the corner in the back. She played her lute to her heart's content well into the night.

She didn't let one syllable drop, not one lyric, not one peep, unwilling to disturb the scene as dinner unfolded. Her pride was easier to swallow than she ever realized.

She just played and played and played, enjoying being able to show off her craft without dodging rotten fruit.

"So, another beast joins the family."

Nire looked over the rim of his goblet to his right. Blasio wasn't much to look at. Beaver fur would always look scraggly no matter how expensive the beast dressed. "That was quite nice of you. Hiring her even after she broke into the room." The beaver struggled to lean forward, his rolls of flesh impeding his progress to the endless parade of food that passed across the table before him.

Nire chose not to reply, letting Blasio get to the point.

"You know, she isn't much to look at but with the right kind of flair she could draw quite a crowd to the arena."

Nire sighed at the beaver's statement. "You can't be serious."

"What? She's one of a kind. She's _exotic_. Exotic sells."

"She's also a BARD." Nire said flatly, "And a BAT. What kind of fight do you think I will put her in? All she is going to do is stumble around the arena half blind walking into walls. And you KNOW that isn't funny more than once."

"Actually, I can see just fine." Nire and Blasio both turned their heads towards the bat across the room as she played a gentler relaxing tune.

"Still, a bard. She probably doesn't even know how to fight."

"Totally true! But I am not above engaging in a game of fist fighting if the need should call for it." Kali said again, still playing her tune as she glanced about the table. The beaver pointed at her as if to say, 'See? See!?'

"Blasio," Nire began, "Believe it or not, I actually enjoy being able to have fine and exotic things all to myself from time to time. Look! I have a bat, that plays music. Music I find rather fun and exciting. I can't very well show her off if I toss her into the arena to be killed."

"Also, true! I can't play music if I'm dead." Kali managed to get through the next verse before she skipped a beat. "Wait, what?"

"Nothing. Go take your break."

Kali blinked. In the end, she shrugged. Surely, she had heard wrong. "You're the boss, sir!" Carrying her lute with her Kali left the room, head held high.

It was all coming together. For once, the universe was smiling upon Kali. Her dreams were within her grasp. She had finally found an audience that loved her. This was truly the happiest day of her life!

Upon exiting the room, something caught her eye. A shadow moved rapidly towards her.

She started to greet the shadow but stopped, catching sight of the beast's paws. Her eyes widened as she reared backward. She managed to scream before the beast lunged at her, eyes filled with malice, knife aimed for her **heart** …


	10. The Best-Laid Plans

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **The Best Laid Plans**

 _By: Silas Hetherton_

* * *

After a long day of pulling weeds, turning soil and planting someone else's garden, Silas sunk onto the old gray cot the old vixen had provided. Brooms and crates had been pushed aside to make space in the room that was more a closet, but Silas was not bothered. He leaned back with a long sigh, closing his eyes and letting his sore, aching body relax.

A tune sang at the back of his memory as he entered the tiny kitchen of his small farm cottage. The setting sun bathed the room in gold. His wife stood before the open window, half humming and half singing an old lullaby as she scrubbed a kettle and rocked the hanging cradle with her tail. She swayed gently back and forth as Silas reached his paws gently about her waist, leaning his muzzle against her shoulder and adopting the same sway. He could hear her smile break the rhythm, but she quickly recovered, singing to the sleeping babe as they all rocked together:

A breeze from the north is gently blowing;  
The brooks from the melt are softly flowing;  
Through dark of night the moonbeams are glowing;  
Rest now til the morning returnest.

Rest now, rest now, til light is returning,  
The dark shall flee when daybreak is near,  
Rest now, rest now, til light is returning,  
A bright new beginning shall surely appear.

In a moment her warmth was swept from his paws and he woke with a start. Emptiness swathed the rat's heart in cold and he shivered, noticing at last the chilly draft sifting in through a crack in the wall. He stood and found a rag to press against it, pinning it in place with an old broken shelf. But by the time he fell asleep again, the dream was gone.

The next morning Silas packed his meager belongings into a sack and headed out. The vixen, grateful for his service, fed him breakfast before he left and presented him a small oat loaf for the road. He thanked her with sincerity, then turned his travel-hardened footpaws north.

Blasio Timberfell's trail might have been ten years old when Silas began his pursuit, but the crooked merchant made such deep impressions everywhere he stayed that beasts remembered him well. Town by town, beast by beast, Silas had worked his way north, learning more and more about the creature who robbed him of everything. Blasio Timberfell's ventures were legitimate and well-planned, manipulative and exploitative. Pesky street orphans were rounded up and sold into slavery as a service. Elderly widows were convinced to sign contracts that gave Timberfell access to their wealth and property. And further north, where the beaver started developing his own construction company, trees conveniently fell on the buildings of his competitors, while bribed townsguards shrugged at the 'natural disasters.'

Silas used the oat loaf to barter his way across a river leading to the next town. The ferrybeast cursed the bridge that Timberfell Construction had built a mile down. The crossing toll was equal to his own so beasts took the bridge rather than wait for the ferry.

"Beasts have no patience. They dunna care that it's me livelihood. Oh no. They jist keeps feedin' the glutton," the otter complained.

"Does he live in Drakefield?" Silas queried, peering up at the otter through squinted eyes.

"Who? Timberfell? Naw. He's too _prominent_ t' settle in such a _small_ town, if'n ya catch me drift, ha ha!"

Silas grunted and forced a smile. The answer to Blasio's whereabouts always seemed to be 'not here,' wherever he went. The plain brown rat watched the river otter push against his pole with some effort, steering them around a large snag. Once clear, the boatbeast relaxed again and continued.

"Timberfell himself sits on his fat tail up in Northvale, rakin' in gold from here t' Mossflower. They call him a woodlander, but if'n ya ask me he's just an oversized, bloated r– " The ferrybeast caught himself and glanced at his passenger, but Silas was too distracted to catch the almost insult. "Rapscallion," the otter finished.

"Northvale, you say?" Silas braced himself as the boat slid to a stop against a shore of smooth bank mud. The otter hurriedly tied down the ferry, waving at a family of mice who seemed to be considering his boat from the road. Silas hopped down as the ferrybeast fastened a wide, treaded ramp against the edge, upping the appeal of his ride.

"Only one bronze a head! Pups ride free! No wait! No line!" He gestured compellingly but the mice moved on, shaking their heads. The otter cursed under his breath, wiping a paw across his whiskers. He turned back to Silas at last. "Did ya say somethin'?"

The rat considered, then nodded simply. "Thank you."

* * *

It took some time, but eventually Silas reached the bustling river port city of Northvale. A thick haze of smoke hung low in the sky above, blending into the clouds until it returned with the rain, leaving a thin black coat of residue on everything. As he walked the busy, dirty streets, Silas was glad to find that here no one looked twice at a rat, though the crowds and noise were intimidating, and there was still obvious division between classes. Rich, well-to-do beasts – both vermin and woodlanders alike, road around in fancy palanquins and wagons, carried along by slaves and servants. He peered hard at every aristocrat, fully expecting to see Blasio, but the effort was in vain. He needed more information.

The rat found some temporary work at an eatery in exchange for food and board. He listened while he scrubbed floors, but the beasts surrounding him chatted mostly about games at an arena called "The Crater." At first Silas assumed it was some sort of popular boxing ring, but later as he was mopping up a puddle of spilled soup he overheard a customer regaling his companion with details far more gruesome. The rat kept his head down, disturbed that anyone could find amusement in such horror.

Another day Silas was painting shutters and doorways at a tavern and observed a rowdy mixture of weasels, ferrets and rats crowding obsessively around a public ranking board. A messenger arrived to post results from the Crater and the crowd cursed and cheered as names were dropped and repositioned, exchanging varying amounts of coinage. A pair of stoats bought rounds of ale for all their friends while a testy horde rat had to be forcibly removed by the door guard. Silas tried to focus on his work, but it was hard to ignore the tasteless predictions of a nearby weasel and fox.

"My money's on the Crane," said the fox. "He's gonna soak the sand."

"Naw, the Crane's been outta the ring far too long," the weasel sneered. "Hammerpaw's gonna cut 'is bollocks off and feed 'em to 'is 'ead. You wait an' see."

"I heard tell they already pitted him against the Direbeast. They say he chopped its legs off one by one til it was hobblin' around on bloody stumps. Only offed him once he got bored."

"Yer lyin', Splitongue. Match like that woulda drawn in the whole town! But enough gossip. 'Ow many greenpaws ye think Nire's gonna put down in the next batch? I've got five silvers it'll be eleven."

"I've seen the latest lot. I'm wagering nine."

Silas finished the door frame, leaving the morbid exchange behind. He wondered at the callous nature of the beasts of Northvale. To them, death was a sport and suffering an entertainment. Blasio Timberfell probably fit right in.

After that Silas drifted toward the docks where poorer beasts congregated. These had no time for games or gambling away their hard-earned money, and it was a welcome change. He found work unloading roofing materials from a barge and fell easily in step beside a dozen other day laborers.

The rat had nearly lost himself in the peace of humble purpose when a word caused his ear to swivel and he stopped. A mole was talking to another dock worker, complaining about the pompous beaver who kept local masons and carpenters from working the Crater. "Ho aye, 'e'm be monopoloizin' the 'ole Northverl buildin' industry," the mole grumbled as he and the other beast added their crates to the wagon. "These days you'm either work furr Timberfell or you'm be foindin' a new career, ho err."

Silas's entire focus snapped to the mole, moving closer until their paths joined. "Heard you talkin' about that bloatcase, Timberfell," he baited. "Any idea where he's hidin' these days?"

The mole seemed to appreciate the rat's solidarity, tugging at his pink snout. "Yurr hurr, 'e be livin' the 'oigh loife oop in 'ee Crater. Oi 'ear tell 'e be sittin' in 'ee glory box nex'ter Nire 'imself, e'en."

Silas sighed. Part of him had hoped to find Blasio in some rich mansion among the haughty aristocrats of Northvale, but he should have known the power-hungry villain would have gnawed his way into the strongest center of influence.

That evening Silas stared out at the giant, circular structure beyond the city's edge, rimmed with orange sunlight. It rose in a high ring above the ground, though rumor had it the inside was four times as deep. Lights of patrolling guards twinkled and moved both inside and out. The rat lifted his nose, sniffing at the air, then narrowed his eyes. He was so close, he could practically taste the thick, pungent oil that coated Blasio Timberfell's shiny coat. But he would wait. And he would plan. _"Soon,"_ he reassured himself.

The rat spent the next week odd-jobbing, saving what little he could of his paltry earnings. At dusk he would walk the road outside the crater, scouting for a back door or some other covert entrance, but the gates were always well-guarded, the walls solid stone, and the windows high off the ground. Then one day opportunity came in the form of an offer.

As usual, Silas had gravitated toward garden jobs, and was pruning an ornamental juniper when a hedgehog leading a mixed team of beasts and carts stopped just beyond the fence.

"Be this your work, friend rat?"

"Yes sir." Silas paused in his trimming.

"Tell me, why did you cut the hedges thinner at the tops?"

Silas shrugged, glancing over at the bushes he'd pruned the day before. "I try to cut 'em according to the way they grow, sir. Plants always branch out more on top. Figure it'll keep an even shape longer."

The hedgehog nodded approvingly. "I like a beast who thinks before he cuts. What would you say to joining my team? Five bronze a day to start."

The rat considered the juniper thoughtfully. Such pay was better than any he'd found so far, but temporary jobs allowed him to walk away at any given moment without raising suspicion. "Well. Doesn't feel right leaving a job half done," he waffled.

"And integrity to bote!" The hedgehog laughed. "I'll tell you what. If you find you're interested after wrapping up here, meet me down at the Crater. We've contracted a big job and could use the extra paws."

Silas barely regained his composure in time to nod before the quill-covered beast turned and left.

* * *

Three weeks later, Silas said goodbye for the last time to the hedgehog and his small gardener workforce. They had finished planting and mulching over fifty vines, following weeks of trellis installation along the Crater walls. The trellises were supposed to be too weak to hold a beast, but Silas had personally bolted one trellis in all the right places, leading just high enough to reach a single window: the window Blasio passed by every evening after the kitchen staff left.

Night after night Silas had observed the patterns of the guards as well as the habits of others. A squirrel from the kitchen regularly dumped her wash basin out the window at the eighth hour. Shortly after that the lamps would be snuffed, and a half hour later Blasio would inevitably appear to help himself to more wine before returning to the adjacent dining hall. Silas couldn't see him after that, but he could clearly hear the distinctive, robust laugh that distinguished the beaver from all others. The rat ground his teeth and curled his paws into fists every time, fur rising along his spine.

Tonight, he would silence that laughter forever.

Once back at the shed where he stayed, the rat gathered all of his earnings together in one sack and headed for a local weapons shop. A bell tinkled merrily as he stepped through the door and he stared, open-mouthed at the wide array of axes, swords, maces, and crossbows.

"Can I help you?" A voice drew Silas's attention and he met the masked face of a ferret.

"Yes, sir. I'm looking for a sword."

"Any particular type?"

"I – no. Not really." Silas spotted a blade that looked about right and pointed. "How about that one?"

The ferret turned and lifted the sword off its display. "Good choice. Double-edged, single-handed arming sword, weighted toward the handle for improved wieldability." The ferret demonstrated several fluid, full circle swings. "That's Ridge Hammerpaw's weapon of choice, you know." He tapped the sword importantly. "Twenty silver."

"T-twenty?" Silas nearly choked on the word. Suddenly his month's savings seemed inordinately small. "Uh. What can I get for 30 bronze?" He grimaced.

The ferret placed the short-sword back in its place with a frown. "Not much. Maybe a hatchet. Two hewing daggers." He shrugged.

Silas shook his head, rubbing a paw across his face, then sighed grimly. "Show me the daggers." The ferret set a pair of knives on the marred, wooden counter. Though small, the blades glinted sharply in the shop's lamplight. Silas imagined them slitting Blasio's glutted belly open. "Fine. I'll take them."

Back at his shed again, Silas stared at his only other tunic. It was worn and torn in various places, but Jubilee had pulled that thread and nipped those knotted ends. Little Heidi had held that fabric between her paws when he carried her laughing on his back, and his son, Artie, had proudly worn its match in miniature as he trailed after him through the grain fields. So many memories attached to what amounted to an old rag. After tonight, though, it wouldn't matter. No _thing_ would matter once he balanced the scales of justice and was reunited with his family. Even Jubilee's letters. He touched a paw tenderly to his chest where they pressed, then began tearing the tunic's fabric into strips, wrapping his ragged farmer's clothing tight to his body. He tied both knives in their sheathes to his thighs within easy reach, and practiced drawing them as fast as he could.

Finally, he took a small pot of water and poured it carefully into a bowl of dark, black clay, mixing it into a smooth, wet paste. Then slowly, ceremoniously, he began to spread the substance across his face and body, hiding the faded gray of his clothing and the lightness of his brown fur and pink tail. By the time night fell, he was out the door, vanishing into the shadows of the night.

Outside the Crater, Silas was careful to stay well out of sight until he could predict the movement of the patrol guards down to the second. Once he was sure of his timing, he dashed across the wide, open path and crept up to the wall of the arena where the trellis waited, barely visible in the dim light of a quarter moon. Two sacks of mulch he had left behind earlier provided an easy cover while he waited, heart pounding as an owl wheeled silently overhead.

Minutes later, as if on cue, the kitchen maid tossed her dishwater out the window. It splashed a stone's throw from the rat. He waited until the lights dimmed, then listened once more for the footsteps of the patrol guards to pass before making a dash for the trellis and scaling the wooden frame quick as a wink. From the top, Silas leaped for the window ledge, caught it with his paws, and pulled himself up with a straining grunt. He crouched in the hallway, drawing his long, mud-coated tail in behind him as he searched for cover. A dark display case with a broken shield and cleaved skull inside lined the far wall. Silas pressed tight against one side, just out of the light of the closest torch. Now he need only wait.

After a minute he remembered to breathe. His paws grew damp with sweat and his body shook with nerves. He clutched at his chest where the worn letters resided, hearing her voice in the words.

 _"…There are days I imagine, if fate were a beast, I would kill it for the evil it has bestowed on us. I still wake every night listening for them, aching to hold them close and whisper words of comfort once more. My heart beats hollow, yet my hope remains. One day things will be right again."_

A hearty, coarse laugh echoed through the corridor and Silas stiffened, feeling the fur along his spine rise as before. He stopped trembling and slipped both daggers smoothly into clenched fists. It was time to make things right.

A single shadow danced across the wall and Silas readied himself, tight as a braced spring. The beast appeared and he started to lunge, then froze. This was no beaver. He sunk silently back into the shadows but the freakish creature's large eyes stared straight at him, seeing him clear as day.

A beat passed.

Then the creature screamed.

Silas leapt forward with a slash but the beast blocked the blow with some sort of club as its unearthly, ear-bleeding screech rose in pitch. Silas attempted to lunge past the beast, but the arms expanded almost supernaturally, blocking the hallway entirely with a membranous flap of dark skin.

"Get out of my way!" Silas sliced at the arm, drawing blood. Another scream and the barrier lifted as the creature rose into the air, kicking him away with both feet. He landed on his back, then scrambled quickly to his feet.

And there was Blasio.

He stood amidst several beasts at the end of the hallway, mouth agape.

Shouts echoed from further down, accompanied by the clanking of armor.

Desperately, the mud-coated rat plunged forward, but a series of smashing blows from above knocked him senseless and a final, painful crack sent him reeling to the floor.

The world spun crazily around him in a kaleidoscope of cloven skulls, winged monsters, and armed guards, yet he could think only one thought:

He had failed.


	11. All We Have Left

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website in our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **All We Have Left**

 _By: Kentigern MacRaff_

* * *

"MacRaff!" His name pierced through the indistinct hum of chatter that droned on throughout the tavern. The hour was late, and a myriad of sailors, laborers, and merchants, thirsty from a day's work, gathered inside for a drink. Kentigern scanned the crowd for the source of the call. His eyes settled on a grinning squirrel, moving with ease despite the crowd, making his way across the tavern to where the hare sat. A similar smile slid across Kentigern's features.

"Dunwillie MacDougal, ye auld scoundrel," the hare called back, standing up and crossing the floor to greet his old friend. "It's been a long few seasons since ah last saw ye, has it nae?" When he reached the squirrel, Kentigern reached out a paw and pulled him into a rough embrace.

He had not, in fact, seen Dunwillie MacDougal since he had married Bonnie and hung up his sword. However, despite the time, his friend's features were a familiar sight to Kentigern. His eyes still twinkled with youthful exuberance and his summer coat was no greyer than when Kentigern had seen him last. Kentigern himself could feel his fur failing to regain a little bit of color in the summers as the seasons rolled by. The stress of raising a family, Kentigern had long ago decided, would kill him early. Wee Bonnie and her mother were quite the headstrong pair, and the hare often found himself on the wrong side of many arguments.

 _Ach, what ah wouldnae give fer the auld days_ , he thought, remembering the times he shared with Dunwillie and the rest of the Braw Adventurers, roaming across the North freely. He hadn't seen any of the other Wanderers in a long while, either, though.

Dunwillie pulled out of the embrace and held Kentigern at arm's length. "A long few seasons, aye. What? Nae since the battle a' Tanning Ford oot west, or aboot then, aye?"

"Aye," laughed Kentigern. "So 'twas. We showed those vermin how tae fight like true highlanders, when they thought they'd wiped us oot."

"Ach. Those were the days, were they nae?" Dunwillie shook his head. "Us'n the lads. Roamin'. Fightin'. Drinkin'. 'Tis a shame ye had tae settle doon." He paused, and motioned the bartender over. "Two October Ales. Ye drink that'un nooadays, eh? Like a proper Mossflower Laddie."

"Last ah checked, MacDougal, ye drink more o' the stuff than ah dae," Kentigern said.

Dunwillie waved him off. "Everybeast kens ah'll drink more o' any drink than ye, MacRaff."

"Do ah hear a challenge?" The hare raised an eyebrow. Despite his nonchalant bravado, though, Kentigern knew that he would, without a doubt, lose to the squirrel. Dunwillie had often challenged the other Wanderers to drinking contests, but in the ten odd seasons they had spent with the band Kentigern had never seen his friend lose. The hare himself was never one to hold his drink. A few flagons of ale were enough to send him reeling.

"Ye dinnae, but ah wish ye did," Dunwillie said, as the bartender returned with two flagons of ale. "Need ye sober, aye. Sensible." He took a moment to grab his flagon and take a swig. "How is that bonnie lass o' yers, anywhoo, er...?"

"Bonnie," replied Kentigern, sipping his own ale. While attempting to maintain a measured composure in front of his friend, he inwardly cringed when he uttered the name. He had sent his wife a letter as soon as he arrived in Northvale, but she had yet to respond. Kentigern gnawed his lip. When he had left, he thought that by this time she would see at least some merit in his reasoning, but the lack of his response from his usually verbose wife over the last few days was worrisome.

Dunwillie chuckled. "A bonnie lass named Bonnie. Ain't that somethin'?" He took another healthy gulp of ale. "Did ah hear right that ye have a bairn as well?"

"Aye," said Kentigern softly. "Wee Bonnie." In his letter, he had asked Bonnie to give their daughter the gift he had left her— a guide to the herbs of Mossflower. She wanted to become a medic for the Long Patrol, just like her grandmother. It was her birthday soon, and though he wouldn't be there to see it Kentigern longed to see the smile light up her face the way it usually did when she received a gift.

Again, Dunwillie shook his head. "Now ah've heard everythin'. Kent, ah ken yer clan has a tradition o' namin' the first bairn the same as the parent, but that's a mite silly."

"Tradition is tradition," said Kentigern. "Mah family's one of the auldest in the North. We've been uphauldin' our ways since the first snow fell on these lands." He stared wistfully into the distance. "Times are changin', Dun. The North's changin'. This city? This crater? Vulpuz is all o'er it. Nae clan would hae stood fer it in the auld days. Tradition's all the clans hae got left o' the auld North. Tradition an' blood."

He knew that for now, at least, his blood was safe in Mossflower. They lived but a short distance from Redwall Abbey. If there were any trouble, he reassured himself, they could reach the safety of its walls in two nights at most. It did a little to allay his worries, but the thought of his wife and daughter lying amidst the wreckage of their burning house made him hesitate. _Maybe_ , he wondered, _it wouldnae be the worst thing if ah went go back._

But he would at least hear Dunwillie out, first. His old friend deserved that much.

The squirrel was now mutely staring into his nearly empty flagon. "Aye. Tradition 'n blood— an' there's little o' the latter that hasnae been spilt. Ye ken what happened to the MacGillies?"

Kentigern nodded grimly. "Castle stairmed by a horde o' madbeasts? Ah ken the rumor o' there bein' a wolf. Heard no beast survived. And auld Laird Abernathy died with nae child. That's two clans that are nae longer, in wee under a season." He frowned, and raised his flagon to his lips.

"Nae. One MacGillie escaped." Dunwillie downed the rest of his drink and motioned the barkeep for another. "Actually, that's why ah asked ye tae travel all this way. Me and mah band were set up in a tavern o'er in Gairkirk, a few days offa Laird MacGillie's castle, and wee Lloyd MacGillie stumbles in all frightened and spewin' somethin' about an army o' crazy beasts. We took him in wi' us, figured we'd take him back tae his parents when we were passin' by. He didnae really talk aboot what happened, but we began tae hear rumors." As the bartender brought another flagon, he fixed Kentigern with a pointed stare. "The details are hazy, but ah ken one thing— the MacGillies were all but wiped out."

"What aboot Alastair? Didnae he settle doon in Mossflower?" asked Kentigern. He had wandered the heath with Alastair MacGillie when they were bairns, and when Kentigern and Dunwillie created their band of warriors the impetuous otter had been the first beast they had asked to join them.

Dunwillie sighed, eyeing his drink. "They were up tae visit fer the auld laird's birthday."

"Ach," said Kentigern. "Ye ken when we were wee lads, startin' the Braw Wanderers? That auld riverdog wouldnae fight a battle wi'oot bein' the first tae holler the auld 'Haway the Braw' an' charge the enemy." Kentigern took a moment to take a long draft of ale. "Ah think he wouldnae leave the fight unless he were the last beast standin'."

"Aye," agreed the squirrel, before raising his glass. "To Alastair— haway the braw."

"Haway the braw." Kentigern echoed the old battlecry of the North. The pair sat solemnly, and despite the din around them their silence lay heavy between them.

The last time Kentigern had seen Alastair, they hadn't parted on the best of terms. After the battle at Tanning Ford, when the hare had decided to hang up his claymore and settle down with Bonnie, the otter had leveled more than a few choice words at his captain. Back then, Kentigern's seething anger at being called a coward led him to refuse to speak to his friend again. Now, though, he regretted not offering the otter an olive branch. Alastair had stuck with him since their youth, and hadn't abandoned him during the disaster at Tanning Ford.

After a time, Dunwillie took a deep breath. "Ah guess that brings me tae what ah need ye fer, Kent. Ye ken how Nire Borean's patrols sweep the Northlands and capture beasts tae fight in his arena, aye? Me and mah band decided tae doo somethin' aboot it. We've been attackin' the patrols as best we can find 'em. But the last attack didnae goo well. They laid a trap fer us. Lloyd got taken. Ah ken he's somewhere in that crater, but ah couldnae tell ye where."

"And where dae ah fit intae all o' this?" asked the hare.

"Lloyd doesnae stand a chance in there, Kent," said Dunwillie. "He's still a wee lad, barely aulder th'n a bairn. He hasnae seen a lot o' action. Ah need a beast tae get him oot."

"An' ye reckon ah'm the beast tae doo that." Kentigern reasoned.

"Nire's beasts ken us all by sight," replied the squirrel. "Ah need a beast ah can trust fer this." Dunwillie held the hare's gaze. "Kent, ah ken ye have a wife, an' a wee bairn, tae. Ah'm nae gonna force ye tae take this responsibility. But this is Alastair's wee brother ah'm speakin' o'. Dinnae we owe it tae the auld riverdog tae rescue Lloyd if we kin?"

Kentigern hesitated. "Ah would, Dun, but like ye said— ah've got a wife, and a bairn. What'll they dae if ah dinnae come back?"

"Kent, ah trust ye wouldnae marry a lass who couldnae take care o' herself," said Dunwillie. "An' this is Nire Borean we're talkin' aboot. Ye think Lloyd can? Ah'd dae it mahself but the guards ken who ah am."

"Ach," Kentigern said, after another brief moment of hesitation. "Ah'll dae it."

"Aye?"

Kentigern nodded. He couldn't leave Alastair's brother to the brutalities of the arena. He owed that much to his old friend. _And tae Dunwillie_ , he thought.

"Ach," smiled Dunwillie, clapping Kentigern on the shoulder. "Ah ken'd ah could count on ye tae not abandon a beast who needed ye."

Kentigern winced, but offered his friend a small smile in return. "Aye. Ah couldnae doo that."

"Ah have tae goo now," continued his old friend, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder. "Ah dinnae want tae be recognized by Nire's beasts. Meet me here in a week's time, aye?"

"Ah'll be here," replied the hare, as he watched Dunwillie put on a cloak and hurry to the backdoor of the tavern.

"Oi, mate," called the bartender, gesturing toward the numerous flagons of ale around the hare. "Are ye gunna pay fer those?"

"Aye," said Kentigern, absentmindedly staring at the door out of which Dunwillie had left. Tossing a few coins onto the counter, he heaved himself up and followed the squirrel outside.

* * *

"MacRaff?" Nire Borean lounged indolently across the table across from Kentigern, head cocked and wine glass swirling between wickedly curving claws. The lynx pondered the name, which seemed to hang in emptiness of the large dining hall. "Y'know," he mused, leaning forward with a glint in his eye, "I think I just might be able to work with that." He nodded, fangs curving into a toothy grin. "I can just about see it— 'Beware the Hare!', 'Face the Wrath of MacRaff!'"

"Ah'm nae interested in how ye sell me—" Kentigern began.

Nire waved him off brusquely and continued as though the hare hadn't spoken. "They'll love you, of course. Proper highlander like you? You'll be the hometown favorite." He chuckled. "It's been a while since we've had a clansbeast. They're damn hard to capture alive— if you'll forgive me— and they usually find this sort of work…well, distasteful." He paused, seeming to consider the Highlander for the first time, and fixed the hare with a piercing stare.

Kentigern shrugged. "It's hard tae find a good fight these days. Ah'm a wee bit bored." He gave Nire a nonchalant smile, but inwardly he bristled at the lynx's casual admittance to murdering his fellow Highlanders. He clenched his paw into a fist under the table, reminding himself that he was here to rescue Alastair's brother and that killing Nire would ruin any chance he had of finding the young otter. "Like ah said, ah'm here tae fight. Ah dinnae care much fer how ye go aboot the rest o' yer business."

Nodding, Nire took a sip of his wine. "Well, you don't have to worry about that. Keep winning fights, and I think we can both make a lot of money. Speaking of that…your contract." The lynx gestured to the piece of paper lying on the table between them. He leaned forward even more. "I think you'll find the compensation for each fight very generous. It's a lot of money…the rest?" He waved indifferently. "Just all of that 'selling' stuff. Don't worry about it. The money's the important part." He offered Kentigern another grin and procured a quill seemingly from nowhere.

"Yer sayin' ah could make ye more'n a wee bit o' money?" asked Kentigern, accepting the pen.

"Oh, much more than a wee bit, my friend." The lynx said this almost absent-mindedly, a satisfied smirk resting across his muzzle. He leaned back in his chair and casually sniffed the wine in his glass. "This damson, by the way, came from the cellars of Redwall itself. I had to go through numerous…hurdles, shall we say, to get it. It's only a few seasons old— Summer of Ceaseless Rain, I do believe— but it's aged remarkably well. How do you like it?"

"Ah'm more of an ale beast mahself, tae be honest," replied Kentigern, beginning to write on the page.

Nire smiled. "Of course." However, his smile fell when he noticed that the hare was writing a substantial amount more than just his signature. The lynx narrowed his eyes. "What…exactly are you doing there?"

"Ach," said Kentigern. "Ah ken ye willnae mind if ah change the contract a wee bit, seein' as how ah'll be makin' ye so much money. Dinnae worry aboot it. The money's the important part, aye?" Kentigern managed to meld his burgeoning smirk into an innocent smile, but inwardly sneered as Nire, suddenly upright, tightened his grip on the wineglass.

"And just what, if I may ask, is this change?" snapped the lynx.

"It ain't anything tae big," replied Kentigern. "Ah'm just nae all that keen on killin' mah fellow woodlanders, is all. Ah simply added a clause that says ah only haftae fight vermin. Ain't got any trouble wi' killin' vermin."

Nire took a deep breath and settled back into his chair with his chin resting on his free paw. His claws tapped shapeless rhythm on the glass in his paw. "No woodlanders?" He gave Kentigern a long look, eyes narrow and unreadable. Kentigern's smile faltered imperceptibly. Briefly, he wondered if Nire would call his bluff.

Finally, the lynx nodded. "No woodlanders. I can do that. Most of our volunteers are vermin, anyway. They tend to gravitate toward this kind of work." The jovial look returned to Nire's face. "Come on. Let's go to the training arena. I want to introduce you to your new partner."

"Partner?" asked Kentigern.

"You know," responded Nire. "The beast you'll be fighting with in the ring."

Kentigern frowned. "Ach, ah dinnae need a partner. Ah—"

"Signed a contract, Mr. MacRaff," Nire interrupted. "And in that contract it very clearly stipulates that I can make you fight however I deem fit, in order to maximize profit or otherwise." The lynx's teeth still stretched into a smile, but now his tongue sidled along the curving fangs hungrily.

"If ye insist," Kentigern relented. "Ah kin fight however."

"Good. Now let's go meet him, shall we?"

* * *

The journey to the arena's training grounds took longer than Kentigern had expected. Nire decided to give him a personalized tour of the arena, stopping his guards at each doorway to give a detailed explanation as to what happened behind it. Kentigern largely ignored the lynx's speeches, nodding listlessly along to Nire's drone while committing the layout of the arena into his memory. He took a special note of the location of the slave pens— in all likelihood, Lloyd would be somewhere among them, having been captured in battle. The thought of his fellow highlander's freedom being taken from him made Kentigern sick. Marking the heavy iron bars of the door in his mind, he vowed to himself that he would get the otter free as soon as he could.

Finally, they meandered into the training arena. The sandy floor was mostly empty, save for a scattering of beasts hacking away at training dummies. A rat, greater in size than most, stood in front of a shelf full of training weapons. Nire led Kentigern to face him.

"This is Hracken— Hracken the Kraken!" exclaimed Nire, gesturing to the large rat. "Specialist with the trident and net. He'll be your partner in the arena."

The vermin stepped up with a disarming smile and offered Kentigern a paw. "It's ac—"

Kentigern spat on the floor. "Ach, ye ken ah'm nae gonna fight wi' a vermin." He pushed Hracken's outstretched paw out of his way and stalked by him with a glare. He came to a stop in front of Nire. "There's nae a thing ah hate more'n a rat but one, an' that's a fox. Ah said in mah contract—"

"That you wouldn't fight against vermin," Nire interrupted smoothly. "Never did I read something about you fighting with one."

"Ah'll nae doo it," said Kentigern.

"Oh," oozed Nire. "I think you will. I don't think you realize, Mr. MacRaff, but I own you."

"Ah'm nae takin' orders from a damn wildcat," sneered Kentigern.

Nire, fur standing on end at the insult, drew himself up to his full height and looked down upon the defiant hare. "Need I remind you again that you signed a contract," he growled, "and should you violate that contract in any way, such as refuse to fight as I desire, I am legally permitted— no, legally obliged to take your freedom and force you to fight as such." He glowered at Kentigern and leaned down to look him in the eye. "Consider your options carefully, Mr. MacRaff," said the lynx, before spinning on his heel and stalking out of the room. Before he left, he gave one last parting shot. "I'm sure I could find you a collar that fits just right."

Kentigern sputtered, unable to formulate a response. The rat, silent through the exchange, stepped forward apologetically and again offered Kentigern his paw. "So…my name is actually Thrayjen, not Hracken the…Kraken, or whatever. I think Nire may have confused me for a—"

"Ah dinnae care much fer what ye call yerself, rat," Kentigern said, still seething. "Ah willnae fight wi' a vermin." He glared at Thrayjen, who's paw still hung awkwardly in the air.

The rat cleared his throat. "Well, it's been a while since I've wielded a blade, and I'm a little rusty, but I'm still fairly confident if we have a quick spar I can—"

"Ah ain't fightin' wi' ye. Kin ye nae get that through yer skull?" Kentigern said. _Nae, ah'll never dae it._ This beast was a rat. To sully the name of his family's sword by bearing into battle alongside a vermin would be beyond disgraceful. Never had a clansbeast of MacRaff broken bread with such a vile creature. Out of the corner of his eye, a movement caught his attention. Through the open gates of the arena, he saw a young otterpup being pushed along by a limping weasel. Her eyes were wild and wide, and she whimpered as the weasel grabbed her collar and dragged her forward.

After a moment, Kentigern looked away from the terrified young otter, flushed. His anger was futile, he realized. He still had an otter of his own to find, and he wouldn't be doing Lloyd any favors by getting himself thrown in the slaves pens. He glanced back at the doorway, but the dibbun was gone. He replayed the image of her baring her teeth at the weasel, ears pressed flat against her skull. And the collar— _He's sick,_ Kentigern realized. _He's keepin' bairns here. Ah'll nae stand fer it._ Resolved with new purpose, his eyes hardened. He would find Lloyd, he would find the young otter lass, he would find any other dibbuns and he would get them out of the hellpit in which they were trapped. And then? He would return, galvanize the slaves, and burn the crater to the ground.

But for now, at least, he would have to play the game Nire's way, though the thought of it made his stomach churn. He looked back at Thrayjen, blood boiling despite the rat's friendly demeanor. The highlander's piercing glare forced Thrayjen to shift his feet uncomfortably. As Kentigern eyed the rat standing sheepishly before him, he was not impressed. This vermin was not a fighting beast— his awkward feet and lumbering size would only slow Kentigern down in a fight. Perhaps, though, mused the hare, this wouldn't be the worst thing. _Ah'll willnae need tae deal wi' him fer long— he'll most likely be dead after a fight or two._

"Ach, if ah haftae goo intae the ring with ye, ye'd best sit back an' let mah claymore dae all the talkin'." He didn't bother to listen to Thrayjen's response, making sure to shove a shoulder into the rat as he brusquely pushed by him and stormed to the other side of the arena.


	12. Chin Up

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website in our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Chin Up**

 _By: Thrayjen_

* * *

It was supposed to have been a fantasy, a far-off legend from a far off place that never could have found them. How many miles covered the vast forests and plains between Thrayjen's humble shack and The Crater's mythical holdings was something the rat never would have considered. Yet there he stood, running his nails over the stone wall that defined his future. His fingers raked against the wall particularly hard, chipping yet another claw. His pacing paused and he leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. In the short time he had been there, Thrayjen had memorized the details of the slave areas. The stone walls and wooden beams of the mess hall, the segregated sleeping quarters, the long hallways that dragged round and round, no longer held his interest. A familiar feeling of forlorn weighed him down which walking could no longer distract from.

The long days after his arrival at The Crater were dreamlike. He had told the hogbabes so many bedtime stories of cruel slave-hunting parties that would burn down far-off villages and capture poor travelers that it seemed ridiculous such things could happen in _Mossflower_ anymore. The painful notch in his ear would forever remind him that he was, in fact, awake, and his head still ached from being cracked over the head with a sword handle. A flustered nurse had checked him over upon his arrival at The Crater, scrubbed him down to his skin and coated his wounds in a salve, true enough, but the forceful hospitality from his captors did nothing to ease the sense of grief that draped heavily on Thrayjen's shoulders.

Nan would have coddled him. The thought gave him a small smile. She would have cleaned his ear with a warm damp cloth while the children would have run amok in excitement, and the whole time she'd be telling him how brave he was to try and lead the slavers away... Or how foolish, Thrayjen thought with a sigh, sliding even further down the wall until he was lying on his side. It didn't matter; Nan was gone, the little ones were gone, and he was here, with a new master and a new home.

While the prospect of a new life elicited some rather emotional responses from other slaves taken against their will, and he was by no means happy either, Thrayjen did not feel _threatened_ at The Crater. He found some relief in that, even though he had been shoved around, chained up, screamed at, and was constantly being watched, he didn't feel that he was in any immediate danger. It was all so surreal, strolling the slave areas without chains, or having a meal handed to him by a stranger with no ill intent. His collar was snug against his throat but it didn't chaff and it didn't choke. Thrayjen dug an idle claw beneath the band to scratch at the unfamiliar feeling. He traced over the branding in the metal that identified him as not only a slave but a combatant. His poor decision to break the noses of several slave-drivers on the caravan that had captured him and bludgeoned him into darkness for two days had marked him as somewhat of a fighter. Nire, the beast who managed The Crater, had taken one look at the large grey rat surrounded by the wounded hunting party and laughed in delight.

" _Excellent!_ We haven't had a capable rat in a while! Throw him in right away if he can beat the lot of you up. What's your name, rat?"

"Thrayjen," the rat had mumbled, his breath catching in awe at the large cat.

"Eh? Hrayken? Hracken? HA! I love it! Hracken the Kraken! We'll spin you as some kind of corsair or a dread sea rat…" The lynx had begun to mutter excitedly to himself as he walked away and, as Thrayjen was shuffled off into the male slave quarters, his impression of the cat had formed.

"Errant fiend," Thrayjen hissed to himself, sitting up off the ground and resting his chin on his knuckles. The rat began to take note of the other slaves in the pens with him. Some of the slaves who had processed the new arrivals had been scribes, medics, cleaners, and cooks. What other jobs were forced upon the beasts in The Crater, Thrayjen wondered. All bore the same thin metal band around their necks, though not all of them had the same symbol. Some collars had no symbol at all and Thrayjen assumed they had not been assigned a place yet; the processing of the slave train had taken a while, The Crater being surprisingly bureaucratic about its bloodlust. There was a mixture of beasts, big and small, woodlander and vermin alike, though Thrayjen couldn't help but notice most of the captured slaves were woodlanders.

He spent a good few minutes looking over the assembly of beasts until the hulking weasel that was Hargorn the slave master hollered to him from across the compound. Even with his peg leg, the weasel marched with purpose, stopping with his nose just short of Thrayjen's.

" _Yew_! Scar face!"

"My name is-"

"Gerrup ter the' training area, ye scumbag! Master Nire wants ye ter use a trident. Something' good fer yer size, make ye look proper 'n searattish like. Aye, yer a big 'un, aintcha? Ye should 'ave no trouble wavin' wunna them forks aroun'."

Thrayjen sighed, pinching his nose. "I've never held a trident in all my life. I honestly thought they were just decorative until I was twelve seasons."

The weasel started to follow Thrayjen as he began to leave, but the rat held his paw up and offered a smile. "No need to trouble yourself. I know the way."

Hargorn curled his lip disapprovingly, but the rat's quiet manner won out. Thrayjen could feel the slave master's eyes on his back the entire way down a hall and to the stairs that led up and into a bright outdoor space.

He blinked as he stepped out into the afternoon sun, raising a paw to shield his eyes. The rectangular space was large enough to accommodate a field and a dirt turf training area. Tall, spiked stone walls prevented anyone from climbing up and an occasional beast poked their head over the top of the bulwarks to watch those sparring below. Roses grew up the lattice nailed into the stones, further deterring anxious paws with beauty and thorns. Wooden dummies were scattered around the grounds, some being thumped upon by eager fighters. Trainers, proudly sporting scars and limps and missing limbs, directed volunteers and slaves alike in the ways of combat. Most of the beasts training were new, their paws constantly tugging at their collars.

"Oy, you!" A uniformed ferret with blue eyes bounded up to Thrayjen, a ragged stream of netting dragging behind her. Hooks tangled in the webbing gnashed at unwary paws that dared get too close as the ferret skipped across the yard.

"You must be Hracken!" the ferret cheerfully said. "Nire said he had a nice big new rat for me! Some kind of pirate, aye?"

"No, actually, not really," Thrayjen admitted to the ferret. "My name isn't even Hracken. I'm Thrayjen. I'm afraid nothing Nire says about me is true." He chuckled softly, paws resting on his hips. "Hopefully, my reputation won't suffer much."

The ferret regarded him with squinting eyes before she broke into a smile. "Aye. I think you'll be alright." She jabbed at herself with a claw. "Name's Blue. Not really, but that's what beasts call me on account of my eyes." She pulled her cheek down to demonstrate to Thrayjen just how blue her eyes were.

"Like the skies of a summer eve," Thrayjen warmly observed. Once again, Blue regarded him suspiciously.

"Big flirt." She prodded him in the chest. "Don't be thinkin' you can warm up to me with that pretty gab, now. A slave's a slave, and my job is to make sure you do what you're told. Aye?"

"Aye," Thrayjen said, pulling a serious face that didn't quite convince Blue. The ferret shook her head dismissively and pointed across the compound to where a rack of wooden weaponry stood against the wall.

"Grab yourself one of those training' weapons and start swingin' against one of the dummies, aye. I'll come by in a bit to see what a big fellow like you can do. Right now, I'm goin' to yell at the idiot who put this away all bungled, aye…" Clutching the net, she eyed a sable ferret from across the compound. He was smirking back at her.

"Aye." Thrayjen politely tugged his whiskers to the trainer and began to turn away when Blue suddenly stopped him.

"You, ah…'Thrayjen', that a family name or somethin'?"

Thrayjen smiled at her and shrugged. "My mother liked the way it sounded." He gently took the tangled net from Blue's paws and gave her a half bow. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Blue."

Retreating a safe distance from the rival trainers, Thrayjen immediately cast his eyes upon the faux weapons he had been offered. Amongst the wooden selection were swords, knives, staffs, but fortunately no tridents. Thrayjen sighed in relief and reached for a cutlass before his paw stopped shy of touching the handle. Claws outstretched, he stared at the blade, examining each curve and edge as though it was a foreign puzzle meant to confound him. Frowning, he lowered his paw.

 _I don't want to hurt anyone…How do I play this game and win..._

His thoughts were abruptly cut off by Hargorn stepping into the yard and, as usual, yelling.

"Master Nire is comin'! Look yer best, ye slack-jawed dandelions!"

Immediately all beasts were shuffling into position. Trainers began to push harder and fighters began to spar with more gusto.

"Punishment, she is my loyal mistress," Thrayjen sighed, pinching his nose as the lynx master of The Crater made his way past Hargorn and straight to Thrayjen. The shaggy hare scowling beside Nire did not ease Thrayjen's sense of foreboding.

* * *

It could have gone worse, Thrayjen thought to himself. The rat had been almost as unimpressed as the hare, but at least _he_ had remembered his manners. He had even tried offering to spar with Kentigern, so that he might brush up on his admittedly rusty skills in scuffling and to help make a plan with the hare, but his new comrade refused to even listen to him. The rat's chest still smarted where he had been shouldered by Kentigern. Nan would have appreciated Thrayjen's patience and attempts to be cordial.

The thought of the old hog shoved aside the indignant heat in Thrayjen's chest and tamed it with defeat. His shoulders sagged once again and, as the training arena once again relaxed without Nire's presence to inspire, he dropped his chin. MacRaff attitude was completely different from Thrayjen's hedgehog family, and the hare's disdain hit Thrayjen after so long away from such wanton hatred. The Crater had greeted him with almost open arms, with woodlanders and vermin working side by side. MacRaff had delivered him a sucker punch and, more than anything, it made him lonely. He missed his family. He missed them, and it was too late to do anything. He was stuck, held under the paws of a bloodthirsty cat and a wrathful highlander, in a world that was built upon what Thrayjen had actively avoided for years; bloodshed.

"It isn't so bad," Blue's voice came from behind him. "Being one of Nire's favourites right out of the gate can be a huge advantage!"

"I don't' want to fight," Thrayjen mumbled. The ferret laughed.

"Of course you don't! But you're a slave." She reached out and grabbed Thrayjen's notched ear, twisting it sharply. He sucked a sharp hiss in, and ducked low to follow her movements and lessen the pain. "And you'll do as you're told. Aye?"

"Aye," Thrayjen grunted, and Blue let his ear go. His rubbed at it, feeling new blood dampen his claws. "I don't know how to use a trident, though."

"Ah, don't worry about that. The one I want you using, the _real_ one, is in the forge getting a little bit of love. Take a sword for now."

"I don't know how to use one of those anymore, either."

"Well, you're just a great big whineygob, aren't you?" Blue rounded on him, pulling a wooden shortsword from the shelf and lunging. Thrayjen stumbled back, barely dodging her stab.

"Oh ho, that hare is going to be mighty sorry when he realizes how much help he _won't_ be getting from you!"

Thrayjen sharply raised his chin to the ferret, heaving himself off the ground. "I'll help him."

Blue laughed. "How?"

He regarded Blue for a moment, clearly thinking. "I'll stay out of his way, just like he told me to. If that's how I help him, then I suppose it'll have to do."

"Help him? _Him_? Never mind him, _Hracken_ ," Blue sneered and ignored Thrayjen's muttered correction. "You need to help yourself. Big fellow is a big target. They'll cut you down first before they even think about the hare." She held her sword up again.

"Then perhaps that'll give him some time."

Blue lowered her wooden blade for a moment and regarded him again with narrowed eyes. "That attitude will be the death of you."

Thrayjen smiled at Blue and picked a cutlass off the shelf. He regarded it skeptically before giving it an experimental swish. "If I can't have my freedom and live my life the way I want, then I'll take my death in my own way."

"So you're content dyin' to help the hare? Even after he spoke to you in the way he did? Spittin' on you just because you're a rat?" Another lunge, another stumble, and Thrayjen was on the ground again. "Don't you have any pride, aye?"

The rat smiled up at Blue from the ground, dusting his now empty paws off on his knees and ignoring an otterwife's laughter from across the yard.

"I won't murder him in combat, if that's what you're suggesting would lift my ego. Neither will he fight alongside me. Perhaps, if our proud bob-tailed companions can see I'm not the vermin they assume me to be, it'll go a little easier for us all." He chuckled. "Maybe they'll let me do dishes in the kitchen when they see I'm not as fearsome a corsair as they hope."

"Will that be before or after your head rolls from your shoulders?"

"Oh, sooner rather than later, I hope," Thrayjen chuckled. He picked his sword up and stood once again. "I can't be a fighter, Miss Blue. Fighting those slave hunters was the first bit of violence I've seen in a while." Thrayjen's smile slid away and his voice became desperate. "I can't fight like Nire wants me to, I _can't do it_ …" He shook his head, clicking his teeth in disapproval. "If helping Master MacRaff, or whoever else, is how I get to survive this place, then I'll be alright. I've had worse than steady meals and a roof over my head."

"I don't' understand how anyone would rather roll over than fight," Blue angrily said. "Relegating yourself to fodder? I train _fighters_ , not dead beasts, which is exactly what you're shaping up to become. You won't get taken out of the fights. Get that through your skull. You'll just die, and that'll be that. Why should I even bother with you then, aye?"

"I'm good conversation?" Thrayjen offered. "I also have to survive long enough to see those dishes washed properly. Can't be eating off grimy plates. "

"You'll see. When you're at the end of a spear and staring at death, you'll see. Cowering behind the hare, letting him do all the work, it won't save you for long."

"Make no mistake, Miss Blue. I don't want to die," Thrayjen said, holding up a claw. "I intend to live as long as I can, in my own manner. I hope I will surprise you."

Blue shook her head, smiling despite herself. "You're a dead beast." She lunged again but this time Thrayjen swatted her sword away with his own and tripped her with his long tail. The ferret rolled and jumped up, spinning around to glare at Thrayjen. He bowed and Blue's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Not so bad!"

"You have no idea," Thrayjen said through a smile.

Falling to the ferret's sword and rising to try again wasn't terrible, as repetitive as it seemed. He found his grip on the handle of the cutlass and managed to parry Blue's shortsword consistently enough that she stopped reminding him how dead he was and began to encourage more and more blocking maneuvers. Time passed to the sound of clacking wood and Thrayjen found himself panting. He held a paw up, silently pleading for a moment of rest.

"You know how to fight," Blue sneered at him, tossing him her sword. He caught the handle and placed their weapons back onto the shelf. "Nobody figures out as many different moves as I got out of you without knowing them already."

"No," Thrayjen replied. "You're just a good teacher."

Ignoring Blue's dismissive tut, Thrayjen's eyes trailed over to where Kentigern was still hacking away at a training dummy. The training yard was dark save for a few torches but the hare did not seem deterred by the pressing night. With the fading light, so too did Kentigern's temper seem to dampen. The hare was wielding his claymore with less fervor than he had before, and Thrayjen noted his movements were slightly sluggish.

"Grab yourself a bite in the mess hall before you turn in," Blue went on. "Nire wants you and the highlander to fight as soon as you can, so be here tomorrow at sunrise for trainin'. I don't like sleepin' past dawn, and there's a match in the afternoon I want to catch. Old hero of mine is back in town. Oh, for _Vulpez's sake_ , stop worryin' about the hare and worry about your own hide, aye…"

"Aye," Thrayjen echoed while Blue wheeled the weapons rack to a locked room in the corner of the yard. "But one more swing won't hurt."

"Bet it will," Blue chimed in as she juggled her keys.

"Master MacRaff?" Thrayjen hollered from across the yard, raising a paw in greeting to the hare as he strolled towards him. The hare looked up but then rolled his eyes and went back to bashing at the training dummy.

"Good evening," Thrayjen tried again. "I've had a chance to warm up, if you're…if you're all limber now?"

"Ach, what're ye talkin' aboot, laddie?"

"I'm asking you if you'd like to have a friendly spar? I'm still rusty but I think it would be nice if we were to get a feel for the other's-"

"Ah already told ye, rat," the hare snapped, shoving his face into Thrayjen's. "Keep out o' mah way. Ah've seen ye flailin' away o'er yonder wi' the ferret lass. Ye dinnae ken how tae kill, do ye? It's nae likely ye'll learn proper in time fer our fight. Nire may make me fight alahngside ye, but I'm nae fightin' wi' ye. Ah'll warn ye one last time— stay away, an' let me dae the fightin'. Dinnae make me cut ye doon in battle."

Thrayjen raised his chin and, unblinking, met the hare's eyes. His lips curled into a thin line that betrayed how forced his smile was. "Of course."

He turned and made his way over to the stairs that led down into the slave pens. Blue followed after him, laughing at the rat's stony face.

"I told you! I told you! Waste of your time, what precious little you've got left!" The ferret practically fell down the stairs as she laughed, clutching her belly and bracing against the wall for support.

"You'll see, Miss Blue," Thrayjen calmly replied. "When he's at the end of a spear and staring at death, you'll see. Beasts sometimes just need the right…push. He'll come through. I'll have him looking me in the eye without murder in his own by the end of the week!"

"If you live that long," Blue said, still chuckling.

"It's what I intend," the rat murmured contemplatively. "I'll live on. For my family, at the very least, I'll keep trying."


	13. The Stupid Situation I'm In

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **The Stupid Situation I'm In**

 _By: Sly Speakeasy_

* * *

"How am I doing? Well, my friend, since you ask, not too well. I've seen much better days," Sly said, sweeping up the straw on the stall floor into some sort of haphazard pile as he did. "I believe you're aware of my success as a bar hopper? Best job I've ever had. The only job, honestly. But it's a good one, and I've managed to stay employed for years. I never complained, not once. I always had a good time, too, especially with a drink in paw. And let me tell you, I was never without a drink in paw, no matter how disastrous that was for my tabs. And my temper."

Sly began to chuckle at his little joke, but the silence in the stall killed the moment. Sighing, the vole got back to work.

"I see you're not amused. Well, neither were the taverns I frequented. In case you ever wondered, a bar hopper hops bars for two reasons: enemies and debt. And, since I'm an expert in my field, I've accrued quite a bit of both. And when a beast's reputation becomes too unsightly, sometimes those he's slighted send the collectors. And then one of those collectors find you, and suddenly here you are, trapped in a drab hole to satisfy beast's silly sense of justice, doing who knows what and for how long, day in and day out, terrified the rest of them catch wind of where you are…"

Sly noticed he had stopped working again. Rolling his eyes, the vole returned to the boring task at paw. "Anyway, that's how I'm doing. I've seen better days. How about you, Handsome?"

The boar on the other side of the stall turned its massive head towards the tiny vole, and snorted in response.

Sly feigned an impressed look. "That good, huh? Then drinks are on you tonight, pal."

"There won't be any drinkth tonight if you don't finith thweeping, Thly."

Sly dropped the broomstick as his paws shot to his mouth in shock. "Handsome! You DO talk! I knew it, I knew it all along! Though I must admit, the lisp comes as a bit of a surprise."

"I don't have a lithp," the lisping beast behind the vole snapped. Whirling around, Sly saluted the bespectacled fox he had been waiting to see for hours now.

"Gerry! My apologies sir, I confused you for a stupid pig. I can only hope it doesn't happen again!"

"No offenth taken," Geralt replied. "I'm not thurprised you're confuthing everybeatht for pigth. I've been making thure to keep you down here. Keepth your thtunted figure out of thight and out of mind." The fox's nose was buried in a stack of papers as he spoke, which the vole could only guess to be the list of chores he and the other lackeys were doomed to complete. He grimaced.

"And it has been rewarding work, sir!" Sly said. "So rewarding in fact, I believe I'm content with staying down here."

"Trutht me, I would love nothing more than to leave you down here, thad and forgotten, but there are plenty of jobth more immediately important. We juth got a new thipment today."

"Oh, a shipment you say? Booze or bananas?"

"You know full well it's a thipment of thlaves," Geralt said without a hint of jest, and handed Sly a sheet of paper. "On top of thith, I need you to athith with arena dutieth. Nire wants it clean for the guests. And remember, if thith ith not finithed in time…"

"I will be horribly punished, yes," Sly interrupted. "What will you do this time, starve me? Thirst me? Take away my headband?" Before Geralt could manage a retort, Sly snatched the list from the fox. Quickly the vole scanned its contents. Clear the new cells, scrub the main tunnel, move the hard tack from storage…and so much more that Sly stopped reading and shoved the page into his pocket.

"To the ol' grind once more, Gerry. See you tonight." Sly said, and sulked out of the stalls.

 _This is going to be a long day_.

* * *

And it was. He was scrubbing the arena for hours, and just as he was about to go to storage, some stupid flying fox creature ruined everything and got blood everywhere. And who else was around to clean it but Sly? He wasn't paid enough for this. In fact, he wasn't paid at all.

But luckily the rest of the long, agonizing day was less eventful, and finally the vole was finished. Immediately after checking in with Geralt, Sly made a bolt for his sanctuary: Crater Lake Pub. Though it was nearby, located directly in the Crater for the onlookers to drown themselves while beasts were killed, the vole would take the service tunnels and backways to get there. Very few beasts took the paths he would use, mostly other indentured servants such as himself. The vole never wanted to be captured while sober.

Finally, there it was. The doors to heaven. Just as he began to charge through, he remembered his situation. Nervous, he opened the door a crack, and peeked inside, scanning the tavern for any beast who looked like they were looking for beasts too. Seeing nobeast suspicious, the vole smiled, took a deep breath, and shoved the doors open.

"Friends! Drunkards! Highwaybeasts! I have returned, to drink you all under the table!"

Barely anybeast turned their heads, continuing to add to the conversational din of the tavern. Only one beast acknowledged their tiny new company, a drunk stoat next to the door. He leaned down and belched in the vole's ear, falling over and bellowing in laughter. Sly bent over, and laughed with him.

"Your enthusiasm inspires me, my inebriated friend," he chuckled. "Perhaps one day, I too will be oblivious to my sad, sad state of being. But until then!"

Sly practically skipped to the bar, nimbly leaped into a stool and slapped the countertop. The hare barkeep who had his back turned flinched, cleaning a glass and doing his best to ignore the tiny vole's voice.

"Gunderbite, my gorgeous angel!" he crooned. "You know what I want. Nay! What I need."

Gunder put down the glass, a little too roughly, and finally turned to face the grinning little alcoholic.

"Aye, I know what you need. But you know what I need? Some coin for those drinks you ain't paid fer yet."

"Oh Gunderbite, you know I'm good to go! I'm working off debt, so every bit of debt I build in here, gets added to what I work off out there! It's a great compromise for everyone involved I'd say."

"Aye. So you say," Gunder grunted. "But you ain't paid your tab since I first laid eyes on you. An' it's been a minute. An' I know you're only workin' here 'cause of not payin' your tabs. You ain't a very reliable patron."

"Help me out, at least tonight. I promise, I'll pay my dues in time," the vole begged, trying not to sound like that's what he was doing, and tapped at his collar. "I can't very well run away, can I? This crater's the only thing keeping me safe. Of all the beasts I owe money to, you're at the top of my list for recompense, believe me."

After a moment, the hare snorted. "Aye. And knowin' you, I won't have to come lookin' for you. You'll be back soon enough. I'll let you off the hook tonight." And with that, the angel fixed a mug of ale, and slid it towards eager paws. Snatching it up, Sly chugged, almost downing the entire contents within seconds.

"You're a gorgeous beast, don't know if I'd said so yet. Now if you'll excuse me, I've a few barflies to bother." Sly hopped off the barstool, already walking towards the loudest table before he even touched the ground. It was a large table of five, mostly vermin. They were all dwarfed when it came to the beaver at table's head. He recognized the beast as Blasio, a businessbeast who owns so much Sly probably owes him coin in some roundabout way as well. He was a massive beast, devouring a plate full of food Sly would have killed for as he spoke to his company. Occasionally he would be interrupted by various beasts with paper approaching the table. As Sly swaggered over, he caught a snippet of their conversation.

"…heard they captured the Monster o' Mossflower Woods," said a one-eyed rat.

"Ha! They didn't catch the Monster. Probably some vagrant they picked up that they're just calling the Monster," laughed a mink wearing a ridiculous hat.

"Yar, don' listen to 'em, the champ's still a safe bet. I'm goin' with him all the way," said a rather scraggly weasel.

"Indeed. That champion is maybe too good," Blasio interjected, chomping down on a hunk of bread. "A sure bet is also a dull one. And it has gotten rather dull around here."

"Allow me to bring some excitement!" Sly interjected.

"Who said that?" Asked Dumb Hat with more than a hint of irritation.

"Down here." The beasts turned heads in unison towards the grinning vole standing elbow-height to One-Eye. "The name's Speakeasy, 'cause speaking to me is easy. Now, I couldn't help but overhear, we were talking about…bets?"

"And who are you?" snarled Dumb Hat.

"I take it you missed my introduction," the vole replied. "I'm Sly Speakeasy, professional speaker, and I was hoping to do some of that with you fine folks."

"Shove off," One-eye laughed.

"No, no, let the little entrepreneur speak," said Blasio, bearing his giant teeth in what Sly hoped was a smile. "I would love to hear what he thinks he has to say."

Oh ho ho, look at you. Sly thought.

"Well Buck, I'd like to say I've got quite a bit riding on this next fight myself. I've got me a secret champion, an ace in the hole fighter, a real force to be reckoned with. I'm willing to bet not a one of you knows about him. I'd love to give you the details but…well…" Sly trailed off.

"But what? I wanna…" One-Eye eagerly began, but the beaver began to laugh, his girth rattling the table.

"But you need several gold pieces before you spill, you wouldn't want the secret getting out," he began, an evil glint in his eyes. "And after we indulge you, you earn just enough to buy a flask to go disappearing into the night. Is that about right, tiny friend?"

Sly began to speak, but the beaver cut him off.

"Save it, I know who you are. And before you inflate your little ego, no, your reputation does not precede you. I've met your kind before, in every bar I've ever frequented. Losers, only trying to get their next glass. So here, I'll save you the trouble of speaking," the beaver said, and reached behind his bulk. Sly could hear the jangling of coins, and his heart leapt in spite of himself. The beaver's hand reappeared, with a single copper piece. "And buy your next drink for you."

The beaver tossed the coin at Sly. It clattered at his feet. He couldn't look the other beasts in the eye as he reached for it, but he could feel their condescending grins baring down on him.

"No need to feel ashamed," The beaver continued. "I'm sure you could have fooled lesser beasts. I normally don't frequent this hovel, but business is business. Enjoy your drink, Mr. Speaky."

Clutching the coin in his hand, Sly forced a smile, and shot back upright to look the beasts in the eye. "Oh, I was finished for the night. Trying to watch my weight, I don't wish my gut to become too unsightly in the future."

And with that, he tucked the coin into the fold of his headband, and spun around into a beeline for the bar, refusing to look and trying his utmost not to listen to the guffaws behind him. Unfortunately, other beasts felt like interrupting his journey to alcoholic salvation.

"Oi!" A deep voice above the vile shouted, and a strong paw grabbed his shoulder. "Ah cannae believe such a beast would treat a fellow woodlander so crassly in front o' those vile vermin blighters."

Sly stopped in his tracks, only partially against his will, and looked up to the voice above. It belonged to a hare, whose imposing figure was diminished only slightly by the bleary eyes of a beast who's gone one too many.

"Yes, damn him and his vermin comradery," Sly said. "If there's one thing that's more upsetting than being thoroughly humiliated, it's peaceful coexistence."

"Aye, laddie, there ain't nothin' worse," the hare agreed, though Sly was fairly certain he didn't understand a word said. "Ach. There's nae need tae worry, though, mah wee friend. They willnae be a gettin' away wi' it fer long, aye. Ah'm here tae clean it all up. Clean out the vermin— all o' them, an' then find Lloyd. "  
"Oh really? I know where the brooms are kept if you want to get started." The hare laughed heartily, and took a drink.

"Ahar, an' ah could dae it wi' a broom, as well! Ah could go intae that arena wi' nothin' but a broom handle an' knock 'em dead!"

"I'd love to see you try," Sly snorted, but then his face lit up. "Wait. Are you one of the fighters?"

"One o' the fight? Ach, laddie, ah'm nae just one o' the fighters. Ah'm Kentigern MacRaff! Ah swing mah blade wi' the fury o' pure highland justice! Ah'm a MacRaff, o' the MacRaff clan, an' ah wield the bonnie auld sword o' mah ancestors— Loft Kris hae slain more vermin than the number o' days ye've seen. Ah fought wi' Dunwillie MacDougal, an' the Braw Band o' Adventurers, lendin' fierce blood 'n vinegar tae the vermin scum. 'Till Tanning Ford, aye." The hare suddenly became downcast, trailing of as he spoke. But then, remembering he had drink in had, he perked right back up, with a twinkle in his eye. "With McDougal— that auld brushtail was one o' the best fighter tae ever grace the bonnie land o' the North! Aye, we fought taegether. In the name o' the Northlands! Haaaarr!"

"And when is your next fight, Mac?" Sly asked, more than a little eagerly.

"Ain't too long now, aye. I'll give 'em a show, and show 'em what for."

And McRaff downed another drink. As the hare embarrassed himself, Sly reached for the newfound wealth in his headband, rubbing it between the fabrics. He smiled.

 _Well, Buck. Looks like I'm about to make things interesting for you after all._


	14. Treading Paper

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Treading Paper**

 _By: Adeen_

* * *

"Welcome to yer new home."

Rank fur and festering wounds, cold stone and cobbles wet with more than water. The Drag spiraled as a tunnel beneath the base of The Crater's many tiers, closed off at one end by a cave in and the other by a guarded and locked gate. Holding pens and box cages, for troublesome beasts, crammed near the front so passing slavers knew their stock. Decorated caves cut along the walls for storage as the tunnel wound onward. Wealthier captives commandeered a few of these caves, and rested in the comfort of feathered beds surrounded by trophies from fallen enemies.

Only misshapen bunks and hay piles awaited Adeen.

Adeen pulled her cloak tight as Hargorn, the weasel slave master, showed off a teetering wooden bunk. The bunk itself stood more a small, hay-filled trough than an actual bed. Rudimentary decorations of stars and heroic beasts carved along the small wooden sides. Adeen recognized the scratch of initials and snippets of lyrics as well. Songs meant for pups.

A clot of cold mud welled in Adeen's chest.

Hargorn rapped the bunk. The creature reminded Adeen of Granz in how he loomed so tall despite his crooked peg leg. A strike of lightning scarred from the weasel's right ear, across an empty eye socket, and down to twist his muzzle into a permanent bearing of fangs. Adeen stared overlong at the hanging, yellowed teeth, each as pocked with grime as The Drag itself.

Hargorn's good eye swiveled over the suggestion of a form beneath her gold-stitched cloak.

"Never 'ad an eye yer lot. Moles 'n voles an' diggin' types. Too beady 'n slow, an' ye allus break afore I'm done."

A flush of heat and acid blitzed through Adeen which incinerated the mud in her chest.

"Devastating. You've killed my one and only hope." Beneath her cloak her paw shuffled through the scribe's kit at her hip. Neither the sharpening stone for crisping quill tips, nor a quill itself, would do enough damage. "I'm sorry I wasn't born to your tastes, _sir._ "

"Shame. Ye'd git far aroun' 'ere if ye were smart or pretty. Might've even kept ye from th' ring." Hargorn unceremoniously scratched at his rump, pulled out something which squirmed, and flicked it onto the floor. Satisfied, he bent forward and sniffed at Adeen, a grin curling onto the unmaimed side of his muzzle. "Strip down anyways. Gotta check ye fer weapons, an' we may'se well 'ave a liddle fun widdit. I kin close my eye."

"No."

"That yer way, is it?" Hargorn licked his exposed fangs. "Good. I allus like meself a fight."

The weasel stepped forward and Adeen could not move. Her stomach threatened voiding the few scraps of bread within. Her heart screamed of due punishment for her heinous crimes. Her mind raced in search of solid ground: the journal of notes at her side, the beasts of the slave line, the marteness...

"Nix." Hargorn's paws shot from her shoulders like a dibbun's from a hot woodstove. "M-miss Nix already searched us."

"Don' take me fer a fool. She only touches the ones she kin sell."

"Then let's ask her. She's still at the gate."

Adeen's tail trembled as the weight of her bluff surged through Hargorn's tiny brain. The weasel stamped his peg leg once, twice. He snorted, brushed past Adeen, and bowled her over.

"Argh. It don' matter. Ye kin keep what ya have, ye ugly liddle git. Ye'll need alla help ye can wi' manners like yores."

Minutes, hours, or days passed, but Adeen did not count. She remained on the ground ensconced in her cloak, immobile save the twitch of her tail. Passing beasts did not recognize her for more than a scrap pile, and the slaves peeking from their decorated caves knew better than interfering with Hargorn's prey.

In time Adeen pulled herself upright. In time she pulled her journal of records from the holster on her belt. Using the bunk as a desk, she clawed through the new minted entries to the "Obit" section. She flipped onto a blank page and quilled line after line under Hargorn's name, digging harder into the parchment with each sentence. All of the weasel's injuries, mannerisms, and even his smell were detailed in small, tight script.

Adeen exhaled when finished and browsed her previous entries.

The heading of Madder Barrow contained every villager, where they ended up after the slave train, and their vital information down to their birth years. Most in the slave train complied willingly, and only one mouse named Ulrich resisted on learning she recorded for Nix as well as memoriam's sake.

In the margin by Ulrich's name read: "easily goaded, give him a carrot and slash with the stick."

"Wait...I don't remember writing this..."

Note after note filled the margins; note after note detailed opportunities and weaknesses. One beast favored their left footpaw from an old injury: "would fall from a rightpaw feint." Another melted into thankful tears when Adeen shared her rations: "would eat poison willingly."

Adeen turned the page. The names of kind Aldridge and the matron Minerva. She snapped the book shut before she read the margin notes.

 _Then take a page from old nettle-noggin and help poor beasts stay out of the storm._

"I record to help beasts." Adeen's voice cracked once more, but not from thirst or dust. "I record to remember them if they fall. This is...this is not..."

Adeen realized she spoke out loud and silenced. The journal rested heavier in its holster as she walked into The Drag's sprawl to prove herself right.

Many of the beasts she traveled with were divided from the train and sent elsewhere in The Crater. Seasoned warriors with scars painting their hides wanted no word with the vole. Newer beasts, brought in days before her own train, were too wary for even a passing phrase.

A young, twitching squirrel Adeen recognized sat upon a stone bench as he picked fleas from his leg. Adeen hesitated, but she opened her book and found his name: Philpott Cricken, scout of Madder Barrow. The entry detailed his service record, his failed baking career, and a margin note citing him as "green as spring onions."

Adeen holstered her book and tried again. She would help; she must help.

"Philpott?" The squirrel twitched but did not look up. "Mr. Cricken? Paws alone cannot stop fleas. A wash of clean mud and boiled vinegar worked on my-"

"The Widow!"

Cricken fell backwards over his bench.

"W-we've met before." Adeen raised her paws in submission. "I'm Adeen Tullus, the recorder. Don't you remember?"

"I remember plenty about you." A small crowd of slaves formed at the commotion. The squirrel pointed at a mouse in the audience. "You, you said you were there. They dragged her through Bastion like a feral. She ate her own husband and pups!"

The mouse nodded and beasts around her gasped.

"Vicious lies." Adeen's tone made a few jump, and she smoothed her fur before continuing. "I've eaten nobeast. I was only charged for...well, do I look like a cannibal?"

Murmurs rolled through the watchers, and Adeen caught wind of "The Black Widow of Bastion" on many a muzzle. She shut out the whispers and offered a paw for helping Cricken upright. The squirrel scrambled backwards and pulled himself up.

"Please, Philpott. I only mean to help. We should band together before-"

"So you can feast on us before the games? I think not."

Cricken stepped clear around Adeen and vanished into the crowd. The murmurs rose into challenges, then preparations. Veterans cracked their knuckles and widened their stance. The fresh slaves huddled against one another whether they realized their cowardice or not.

Adeen sprinted away before anybeast acted.

* * *

 _"I'm not mad." Fenton twitched his whiskers. "Really, I'm not. Still wish you hadn't."_

 _A silver goblet stood on the table between Adeen and Fenton. Their sandstone home contained very little, and what luxuries they did own were for the twins. A carved crib tucked against the wall, a basket of driftwood dolls sat by its side, and Silva and Thrane rested under blankets stitched with golden vines and poppy flowers._

 _Adeen did not look at her husband as she spoke._

 _"It was too easy. The maid let me in, I grabbed the cup, and left. I wonder if they'll ever notice its absence._

 _"They won't, but that's no excuse."_

 _"A few more would see our debt cleared." Silence between a husband and wife. Silence broken by the twins smacking at the crib's bars. "You can sell this with the next caravan, right?"_

 _"I will." Fenton rounded the table and pulled Adeen into a hug. She remained limp in his arms for all of two seconds before burrowing against his brown bread fur. "But no more, okay?_

 _"What of our stores? We've only enough grain for the week, and you're not paid until next month, and the Duke-"_

 _"We. Are. Fine. We are, my poppy. So long as we have each other."_

 _"Do you promise?"_

* * *

Adeen awoke beside prison bars. She whipped about in search of Simondale, or sandstone, or the ever-dry air of Bastion. The infectious damp of The Drag greeted Adeen instead. She found herself hiding behind a stack of water barrels, near the frontward holdings for troublesome beasts.

She peeked from behind. The few slaves nearby looked elsewhere, and no masters prowled. Adeen rose like a shadow gaining sentience, and passed the row of cells. The first contained only hay and droppings. In the second a stoat sharpened a rock against the wall, but the beast did not notice Adeen's passing.

Another stoat rested on his side in the third. None of the cells contained any furniture, so the creature made due by tucking himself against where the wall met the cell's bars. On approaching she found the stoat asleep, and suddenly familiar.

A flutter of pages and Aldridge Moor's name jumped out amidst the Madder Barrow collective. She shut the journal again before reading the margins.

Water. Adeen swiped a stone gruel bowl from an unaware slave and filled the vessel at the water barrels. After a little spilling, and a little creative turning, she worked the bowl through the bars and set it quietly beside Aldridge.

"My thanks." The stoat's eyes opened and Adeen recoiled in surprise. "Not so scared of joining me this time, are you."

Adeen knew the maneuver well, and employed the same feint in Bastion's prison, but still her heart raced. She'd not expected as much from the quiet bowyer. But now, as she watched, even the simple act of drinking still smacked of a ritual, or a performance, to Adeen. Aldridge finished before she could puzzle free assessment from assumption.

"I fear your neighbors more. Young Cricken calls me a cannibal, even after we spoke on the journey here. Tell me you don't believe him."

"I apologize for Philpott." Adeen's tail twitched at the omission. "He spent his whole life at liberty to run and climb where-ever he likes - and has taken great solace in that since his mother passed five-some seasons ago. To have that ripped away is hurting him more than anything else ever has. Were I in his place, by now I would be mindless with the need to return to the woods of home."

"He's the right idea. If we're...when we're free I'm keeping to the trees. The scent of city life alone is overmuch, stories and monsters aside."

"And I wonder what other stories you've heard." Aldridge tilted his head and made a point of observing Adeen's journal, which poked from her cloak as she crouched. "Any tales of more than Cricken?"

The journal burned at Adeen's hip, and her heart sang of ripened opportunity. Adeen's mind explored the terrain. The labored sips of water, the feigned sleep, even the lilt of concern and hope in the stoat's tone smacked of artifice. The vole's heart and mind warred onward and endless until the cold automation of survival raised her shield.

"We've only just arrived. Give me time and I'll know more."

Aldridge nodded. Then, a new voice sent the stoat and vole's ears upright.

"Quiet down you lot." Adeen made to run, but she recognized the deep yet feminine cadence. "Unless yer fixin' t' be heard."

Aldridge tossed his head in permission, and Adeen bid farewell with an all-too-eager curtsy.

The Monster of Mossflower sat in the next cell over. She sewed along a small square of cloth, rhythmically plunging and pulling white thread up and through. Adeen drew close and observed the half-finished outline of a water lily. Unconsciously she touched the poppy and vine pattern of her cloak, and breathed deep the sands of Bastion for the briefest moment.

"A wise warning." Adeen sniffed about for other eavesdroppers, but returned when she found none. "Now, tell me why they trust the Monster with a needle."

"They didn't. I only asked fer thread."

Adeen nodded sagely and opened her journal of notes. Some space remained on Minerva's page. She scribed lines of her resourcefulness, and concealed the margin notes with her off paw.

"You were takin' stock fer that marten." Adeen jumped, for Minerva came right up to the bars. "Did ye... do ye know where _everybeast_ was taken?"

Adeen scooted sideways a few paces more, making sure her voice pitched low and that Aldridge's bars were well out of sight.

"Fable is safe. Nire keeps a well-provisioned area for his 'guests.'" She flipped through her journal and showed Minerva a list of beasts escorted away, and where they went. "Nix sent Fable and a few hoglets away soon after you...troublemakers were hauled off."

"Are ye sure ye're not next, 'Widow?' I heard what you were goin' t' do t' that squirrel, Cricken."

"No, 'Monster.' Never a squirrel. Too stringy for my tastes. I'll leave his butchering for your table."

The mothers chuckled in earnest for the first time since capture. A warm silence followed, like the sharing of afternoon tea. A drip in the otter's cell grew louder, and nearby some slave howled with grief. Minerva cupped the lily stitching in her paws, staring at it as though wishing the flower would come alive.

The drip from above, the clouds gathering in Minerva's eyes, the bite and savor of dune nettles through Adeen's mind. No manner affected the Monster. Not now, not when they dragged Fable out of her arms. Not when greater beasts tried showing the otter her place.

Adeen held out a paw through the bars.

"Please, let me see it to her. I will find a way out in time." The vole held no plan, but she believed the potential lie and found strength. "She'll want to know her mother is well."

"You- you would do that fer me? I can't repay ye."

"You have. We are keeping each other out of the storm."

Minerva hesitated, and joined the long list of beasts inspecting Adeen's form for signs of sanity or treachery. In the end she pressed the lily stitching into Adeen's paw.

"Tell me if ye find her. Please." Minerva's claw passed over the stitched hem of Adeen's cloak before pulling back and away from the bars. "And when ye do, tell Fable it's her turn."

"A delivery and a message." Adeen tucked the stitching into her kit of tools. She looked back towards Aldridge's cell again, but bit her lip to keep her conscience clear. "You've my promise, Minerva."

"That marten said everybeast was scum. I'm happy she's wrong. Thank you, Adeen."

The Drag's only entrance creaked open. Adeen dove away from Minerva's cell, and hid behind the water barrels. A fox of martial bearing shouldered through the door. The beast stood assured, with built and skilled muscle coursing under his thin red fur. Veterans, who unknowingly shared the shadows with Adeen, whispered about a crane. Adeen saw no birds with the tod, but a male vole of smooth movement and easy manner entering alongside.

"Round up the newest." The fox spoke with a gray finality. Adeen knew the tone from gravediggers of her youth, who moved unflinchingly through life as they dealt with death. "Nire wants them sorted and trained for some stunt."

"And are the newest painted a special color?" Adeen smiled despite herself and snuck closer. The male vole's fur ran the color of over-mulled wine, and a kiss of mischief licked his eased cadence. Handsome, thought Adeen, even with the stained headband. "Perhaps they respond to a certain whistle?"

"You wanted to 'help,' bookie. Go fetch Hargorn and he'll point em out." The bookie bowed far too low and sauntered off and into The Drag. "'Gorn best not be dusting the maids again..."

A tired patience wrapped about the gladiatorial fox, observed Adeen. One you found in a librarian helping a dibbun learn their letters, an elder sailor at rest, a healer...

"A healer." Adeen whispered to herself.

Sure of her stealth, Adeen spread out her tools. Her quill and ink flew across the curve of a blank scroll. Line after line filled the void, uniform and infinite like the rolling waves of The Great Sea. Onward she swam, until her memory and notation breathed life into the document before her. A few test blows for settling the ink, a repacking of her gear, and she stepped out from behind the crates.

"A list for-"

Instinct sparked, and the fox swung hard at Adeen for sneaking up on him. Only her short stature, and the billow of her cloak, kept her from losing teeth. Her hood flew off as the fox's fist caught the edge, and her exposed ears blazed red with panic.

All the fire within the fox suppressed on command, in the way only a true fighter could.

"Pinebarrow?"

"...Healer Hapley."

"It's Crane, now."

"It's Tullus. Or The Black Widow of Bastion as the rumor spins."

"I've heard."

Silence as they both cast about for eavesdroppers. Satisfied, Adeen pulled up her hood again and offered her scroll.

"A list of the new beasts, myself excluded, sorted between penned and free-roaming. Nix tasked me with recording, but left me with the slaves anyways." Hapley took the scroll and said nothing as he read. Adeen carried on. "I did not think to see you here. Why trade red bricks for gray?"

A twitch flickered along the fox's infected ear.

"I could ask you the same, Widow." Hapley looked Adeen up and down, as so many would. "Is it true?"

"Yes." Adeen kept herself from shaking by clutching the journal at her hip. "Unless you've heard the version where I eat beasts. My teeth only run red from cherries, I assure you."

Neither laughed. Hapley sat upon a crate and joined Adeen in considering the trail of sconces lighting The Drag. At the edge of sight they spotted the fast-talking vole ever-so-calm before a raging, half-naked Hargorn. Hapley sniffed and spoke at just above a whisper.

"Hiding will not save you for long, _Tullus._ This time, perhaps, but not again. Hargorn has a need to test everything he gets his paws on."

"Then help me avoid his test. A place so large must need a capable scribe. You know me; you know my skills."

The swiftness of his turn startled Adeen.

"I knew of a vole maid who hounded brot...elders for writing lessons. I knew a vole maid who once ransacked my infirmary to learn all the ingredients within.

I do not know The Black Widow of Bastion."

Adeen's muzzle drooped. The ladder of nettles woven through overlong fur. The tired smile of a beast cleaning gashes along her thighs. The weight of her journal, of the names and notes within, kept her afloat.

"Neither do they." Adeen gestured at the pockets of distant slaves. "Give me one chance. I will prove my worth to you and more."

Hapley remained still for longer than any beast should.

"We will see." The fox rose. "And you'll see the ring if any talk of red bricks reaches me. Understand?"

No malice carried in Hapley's threat, but the weight fell upon Adeen's shoulders like an iron mantle.

"I'll keep your secret safe."

"Good. Stay out of sight for the muster. I will send a page to grab you for recruitment. You're right, educated beasts are in short supply."

"Thank you, Crane."

"Gratitude in deeds, not words, Tullus." Hargorn and the handsome vole started their way up towards them. "Off with you. We'll speak more later."

Adeen stepped backwards and faded into the shadows as Hargorn and the bookie approached. She did not stay for the weasel's fiendish grunts, and wound with care through the clusters of slaves at their own devices. The echoing call of names, read by Hapley from her scroll, cannoned through The Drag, sending all into a surge towards the front door.

The hay-filled bunk now looked a fortress to Adeen. With care, with skill, she curled into a ball and vanished beneath the hay. Mites danced along her cloak and whiskers. Still, Adeen smiled. The infection of hope curled along her tail, and doubled still as the last name echoed and the muster left for the training grounds.

Hapley kept his word. Not a beast looked for The Widow.

"I will keep my word as well, healer." Adeen whispered.

Adeen yelped in surprise the moment she relaxed. Something sharp, something cold, bit into her backside as she extended her legs. She scooped out the hay and discovered the source beneath.

A dagger. A rondel with a sharpened point meant for piercing armor. The grip ran between two circular guards, both weighted to aid in plunging, but still thin enough for concealment. Clouds etched into the hilt and the supple leather of the grip, climbing an otherwise clean blade.

Adeen whipped about for some sign of a sender, some beast nearby ready with a knowing wink. Nothing. Her mind raced for an explanation, a benefactor, or anybeast that'd know her history. Hapley didn't move so far into The Drag. Simondale remained in Bastion. Her father's death, the caged associates. Nobeast remained to offer her a weapon.

A piece of parchment poked out from beneath the dagger. With caution she pulled the note free and read:

 _Three gets you Canen._

A list of names followed. Adeen recognized some immediately, and knew others from her journal. No signature adorned the message, and the scrawl seemed hurried and varied.

The hit list fell from her paw.

"No, I promised." Adeen trembled as she pulled out the water lily stitching from her kit. "I promised I would..."

Her other paw curled about the dagger's grip and the trembling ebbed. The weight felt right. A test stab plunged through the wood of her bunk with little resistance.

Canen's back would offer less, thought Adeen.

Three. Slay three beasts for Canen. Adeen plunged again and the musings of desert hares vanished with the splitting of wood. Again, and the memories of her love contorted into the grimace of his father. Again, and again, until holes dotted the wood like so many stars in the night sky, until she floated free from The Drag and let the rattled sigh clear her throat.

Adeen hid the dagger beneath her cloak, opened her journal, and pored over her notes.


	15. Tectonic

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Tectonic**

 _By: Aldridge_

* * *

One day, chained to the roof of a wagon.

Two weeks, walking alongside the slaver caravan, waiting at various points for teams of the blue-jerkinned beasts to break off and return half a day later with yet another squirming, furious prisoner.

Aldridge had become used to the sight of the vole trotting around with her book and quill, taking notes on every beast. She was in the end a fascinating creature. She did not change her temperament in any situation, for any beast, for any reason… for as long as she was awake. He had heard the name 'Black Widow' thrown around a lot, but didn't believe a word of the rumour. Really? A vole who would eat her husband? No. She carried herself with far too much regret for that. Every twitch and affectation was buried under ten lifetimes of dust.

The many beasts of Madder Barrow had quickly reached the conclusion that they would not try to run, or break the slave train. They had clubbed together to build a complete picture of the armaments of the caravan, and they had determined several things. First, that with only two exceptions, the villagers had all been brought down with a single bolt of the Blue Beasts' normal tranquiliser. Second, that there were much stronger tranquilisers, meant for the boars - it was these that had brought down Ennis and Tevar. Third, that the caravan beasts were always armed - blowgun, brace of sedative darts, short sword or dagger. Fourth, that the great stinking beast that drew the third wagon squealed at the smallest disturbance in the night. There were great stinking beasts on the other five wagons too, it was just that particular great stinking beast that also happened to serve as a very loud warning bell. Fifth, that the provisions were actually quite good - especially when the leader of the guard relented and allowed Tanra, then Aldridge and Aera, to join the evening hunting parties. And so in the light of the facts that the youngsters and oldsters had escaped safely, they weren't being unduly abused or starved or even left wanting for clean water, they decided only to see what happened next.

The terrain changed around them by degrees. The buds of new leaves disappeared. There were no more flecks of green in the canopy, only damp mud on the ground, rotted all the way through from the last autumn's mulch. The caravan carved and churned a thick track through the cold black mud. It would be un-navigable for days to come.

Then the frost started to form in the night. On the grass for the first few days, then creeping onto fur and clothes. Blacksmith Ulrich grew frustrated with this and hurled a length of the chain attached to him and nine other villagers into the fire. Nobody entirely understood what was going on until the next morning, when his chain-line had to be roused from their surprisingly comfortable sleep in a large pile of woodlanders and warm chains.

Nobody was willing to try the same with the boars. The great beasts barely seemed to notice the hoarfrost on their heavy coats.

The to-ing and fro-ing had stopped now. Sixteen days, Aldridge had counted, since he had woken up on the wagon roof, and now there were no more parties leaving or rejoining the caravan. Scuttletail said they'd acquired the Monster of Mossflower Woods. When Aldridge had heard this one, he'd looked the large grey rat over for a moment and then immediately ruled him out in favour of the female otter, forelimbs riddled with old wounds, doting over her daughter with more fierce protectiveness than he'd ever seen.

The caravan stopped at a waystation of sorts. A long dead tree with scraps of canvas stretched between the branches. The marteness hopped down from her perch on the foremost wagon, pulled a huge iron key from her jerkin, slotted it carefully into a fold in the bark and opened up the store. As the tree unfolded into a mass of cupboards, bins and shelves all held together by smooth iron hinges, the seven members of the village who devoted their lives to woodworking kept jostling for a view, stepping on each other's footpaws, generally causing trouble until the marteness beckoned them forward. She seemed to understand that it would keep them happy, having the chance to examine every detail of the way that this massive old tree fit together.

Ten minutes after they'd finished reloading the food wagon, she wasn't as understanding. She reached into the unfurled structure - all shelves and hinges and compartments - and hauled Luthier Droven out by the scruff of her neck.

The vole stared evenly at the marteness. "I wasn't finished," she said, flat.

The marteness stared back. "Watch your tongue, woodworker."

The vole's ears drooped, then she looked back up with the most pathetic hopeful look on her face. "A quarter-hour more?"

"Five minutes."

Droven was clearly still disappointed, and somehow had the guts to push her luck even further. "Ten?"

The marteness huffed and scowled. "Fine. My feet hurt anyway." She put the vole back in the space behind the grain-bin to keep trying to work out how it stayed dry.

"But… you've been on the wagon all day…" One of her seconds tried to be helpful.

"Shut up."

Another half-hour later, they were under way. Most of the wagon train was now consumed with creatures chattering about the mechanical genius of where-ever they were going ( _Northvale, was it? Yes, Northvale! I hear they've planted a whole forest of their own, just to grow the best wood!_ ), and how they hoped to see all of the wonderful inventions such a new place might have before they inevitably escaped, or were rescued. Aldridge didn't have the heart to agree with what Ulrich was saying, loud and quite irritated, to any beast who dared to talk to him about all of this. Rescue was nigh unfathomable, escape just as unlikely.

Nonetheless, the marteness smiled a couple of times that day, when she thought nobody was looking.

The wagon progressed. Four more days passed, and on the morning of the fifth, the marteness addressed them all.

"A runner has been sent ahead with details of all the beasts present, and recommended classifications for all beasts from a tribunal of myself and my seconds. When we arrive, you will be separated from each other. The majority of the ex-residents of Madder Barrow have been flagged as excellent workers; your details are being used to assemble an auction house and take advance bids on you all as we speak. You will be owned by beasts and businesses within the city of Northvale, a short distance from the Crater, which is where your fighters and some of your craftsbeasts will be kept. Carpenters, metalworkers, healers and weaponsmiths of all kinds will likely be retained and put to work by the Crater. I tell you this so that you can say your farewells over the rest of today. It is usual for somebeast or another to try to escape at this point; I can only tell you that those beasts who try will be caught, either by us or by the frost. Those caught by us will be retained in solitary confinement for two days upon our arrival; those caught by the frost will be dead. Those of you who successfully took the lives of any of the beasts under my command will also be retained in solitary confinement, until you have been interviewed and any danger you present has been assessed. Are there any questions?"

There were none.

Aldridge did not look forward to the idea of solitary confinement, but there was an upside. The journey would end soon, and his footpaws could finally rest.

Everybeast's voices were subdued, for the whole day. As the guard towers passed overhead, Aldridge saw beasts break, crushed under the certainty that they would never see Madder Barrow again. He saw beasts draw themselves up to full bearing, resolution clear on their faces and in their demeanour. He saw Komi Banton, who had been resolutely ignoring him for the entire journey, becoming more and more agitated. He saw Adeen Tullus, writing everything down.

The guard towers grew better maintained as the sun dropped to the horizon. Soon enough, the caravan drew to a stop in a holding pen of sorts - a huge wood and stone structure, watched over by four guard stations built high into the wall and with four large entryways.

"All beasts, halt! Slave lines, to entrance four and through onto the Arena floor! Boars and handlers, unhitch and pen up in entrance one! Wagon handlers, take the wagons through entrance two for provision checks, rotation and replenishment! We're home for four days, let's make the most of them!"

Ninety-six beasts in chains shuffled to the last of the four entrances, watching as the holding pen staff got to work. The caravans and boars disappeared within a few minutes, and then the marteness appeared again, with a great cat by her side. He grinned, as cats were wont to do, and gave them a long and ridiculous speech.

And then he became a little more dangerous.

A kit was separated from the group after a ruck and a great deal of intimidation, and then the cat stepped back, ran his eyes over the slaves like claws on silk. "Seven murderers!" he bellowed, in his finest announcer's voice. "Seven murderers, to be held in solitary confinement until they have been interviewed and assessed. Step forward when your names are called. You will be escorted to your cells. And just to get us all in the gladiatorial mood, by your kill count shall ye be known!"

An uncomfortable silence. Nire extended a scroll, and his voice cracked out again.

"The beasts whom no poison shall fell, with three heads taken per each! Please put your paws together for the Venomous Voles, Dragon Ennis and Milgram Tevar!"

A smattering of nervous clapping from the villagers, manacles clanking along. Nire's glare amplified the applause significantly. The two voles sheepishly stepped forward, proffering their wrists. As new sets of restraints were fastened around them and they were led away, the cat began to announce the next.

"Ladies and gentlemen! We all understand, don't we, that appearances can be deceiving! Why, I have two dead guards who'll attest to that! It is my pleasure to present to you the source of all those awful stories! My remaining guards call her The Ornery Otterwife, but you and I know her as The Monster of Mossflower Woods!"

There was another round of applause, slightly less weak. It seemed everybeast was being infected, just a little, with the cat's showbeastship. The otter Minerva stepped forward, meeting the marteness' gaze with a growl. She was manacled and dragged away.

"Next on the roster with another pair of kills, when you see her you'll be just as confused as I was, ladies and gentlemen! A youngling who, begging your pardon miss, has taken two lives far too early in her pretty little life. The miniature malicious murder mouse, Foxglove Aera!"

Medic Aera's daughter stepped forward and received her new manacles, the beginnings of a sneer on her face. Aldridge knew that look; it was the same one she'd worn when Ulrich had dragged three dead weasels into the village on a broken cart. It was the look she'd worn when he told the village of the eight mouse slaves the weasels had been keeping. And even as he had begun to cry because he had never wanted to take another life as long as he lived, the mousemaid had snarled joyfully at the tale of the weasels' demise. The applause was almost consistent by this point, and the resentment on the assembled beasts' faces was starting to wear away under Nire's threatening presence. Aera pretended to bite at the face of the beast who was putting her new manacles on, and he jerked back in surprise, and there was laughter and jeering and more applause. Making the rest of the beasts feel good about the kills she'd scored. Her mother would have done the same in her place, Aldridge thought with a fond smile.

"And now, the beasts resting on their laurels at a mere one kill, with a great deal left to prove! Are they brown? Are they white? They never can make up their minds, can they, these stoat types! I give you first the Herald of the Horde, she who flung insults at the Abbey Gates themselves and lived to tell the tale - Komi Banton!"

Komi stepped forward, and Aldridge remembered her cutting her way through at least two of the Beasts in Blue as she tried to escape the village. The applause ebbed a little: she showed no sign of playing along with Nire, and the beasts of the Barrow neither knew nor trusted her yet. He found himself desperately wishing she'd opened up more along the way. She was shackled, and led away.

"They say he can put an arrow through full-plate armour from two hundred paces! Well, he'll certainly need that bow arm here in the Crater, won't he, ladies and gents? We have for your viewing pleasure, from the distant village of Madder Barrow, the Dealer of Distant Death, Aldridge Moor!"

He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath he hadn't realised that he'd been holding. He stepped forward, met the marteness' eyes, nodded once as his manacles were put on. And... then he took a page out of Young Aera's book, and he turned to the watching beasts and raised his manacled fists with a snarl of a grin on his face, and the applause and cheering swelled again. Give them a show. Make them proud of what they'd done so far. Remind them that the slavemasters were mortal after all. He was pulled away, and Nire began to announce the next beast.

"Also coming in at one kill, a blacksmith so grumpy I'm surprised it wasn't just with a glare! You citizens know him well, so may I present the Blacksmith, Riemann Ulrich!" There was laughter mixed in with the applause again; as he held out his wrists, Ulrich certainly seemed to be trying to kill Nix with just his eyes. Aldridge lost sight of him and of Nire's next announcement as he was dragged down the corridor by a large rat who did not in fact look like he was moving at all - more as though he were a rat-sized pile of fabric and old food that was in a permanent state of collapsing in whatever direction it was that he seemed to want to go.

The motile pile of rubbish spoke, and even tried to get a rise out of him: "The voles got three kills each an' yer only got one? Ain't much'v'a stoat, are yer?"

He didn't reply.

Trash-Rat apparently didn't have anything else lined up, because he dragged Aldridge the rest of the way to his cell without any further attempt at provocation.

It seemed he was to be quartered opposite Minerva. Her guard had just locked her cell, and was now unlocking her manacles through the cell bars. That was a surprising but welcome accommodation.

Aldridge allowed himself to be shoved bodily into the cell; the cost, he supposed, of not rising to Trash-Rat's barbs. He pulled himself to his feet as the lock clicked shut, thanked various spirits as Trash-Rat beckoned him over to have his manacles unfastened.

How long would he be locked away, down here? What was an 'interview'? How long until his was ready?

None of these questions could be answered. He had seen guard towers, a loading pen, a shrewd marteness, the great boars, Nire himself, and now the inside of a cell. Nothing stood out - nothing he had seen at any point told him enough about the situation they were in to tell him exactly what would happen next. What he had seen so far didn't mean anything without mannerism or tradition to attach them to.

In his youth, he had served under a very different master in a very different place. All sorts of odd cultures had washed up on their shores or worked their way through the populace. One set of teachings had stuck with him since he had first encountered them, all that time ago.

He sat, crossed his legs, emptied his mind, and began to breathe.

Guards came and went. Cells were opened and closed. Three beasts were dragged away for their interviews, each dragging separated by about five hundred heartbeats. The draggings started from the cells closest to the entrance, and switched from side to side as they moved closer to him.

Adeen Tullus came and went, but for her he opened his eyes. She did not have any news for him.

Eight hundred heartbeats later, there was an awful banging on his cell bars. He opened his eyes to find that Trash-Rat had come to take him away, even though by his reckoning the otter should have been next. The weight of the manacles slipped back into place with far too much ease; like putting on an old uniform or a favourite hat.

He followed the rat to the end of the tunnel of solitary cells, up some rough-hacked stone steps, and up, and up. Five flights all told, all bearing down on his legs especially hard after the weeks on the slave train.

The rat dragged him into a large… working space, of sorts. It looked like a cross between a the offices of a quartermaster and a general. Nire sat at the other end of a long table. A metal hoop was buried in the surface of the table at Aldridge's end; it was not a surprise when Trash-Rat attached his chain to the hoop with a large padlock, and stood back.

"Thank you, Kilgrun. You may leave." Trash-Rat left. His smell did not.

Eighty heartbeats passed, as the cat finished writing something down. He put the paper to one side, looked up, smiled with too many teeth. "Aldridge Moor, of Madder Barrow."

Aldridge gave him a curt nod. "Aye."

"Welcome to the Crater. I have some questions for you."

"Ask them." A small movement out of the corner of his eye. Aldridge glanced across when he was sure the cat wasn't looking, and sure enough, mostly concealed at a second desk behind a curtain divider, a paw holding a quill, poised to write in what was very clearly Adeen Tullus' notebook.

"Very well. You have not offered any further resistance since your capture. Why is that?"

Aldridge detailed the observations that the villagers had made about the slave caravan. Adeen's paw did not move.

"As I suspected. Another question, then." The cat held up a piece of paper. "This letter explicitly requests that yourself and another prisoner from your train, one Komi Banton, be pitted against each other in the Crater. How can it be, that neither of you have been fully processed and yet I have a letter here that identifies you both by name?"

This was a less simple question, and Aldridge took a moment to answer. "The beast who brought your blue-tuniced abductors to our village - her name was Jossia. She fancied herself successor to her brother Galleran in all things. I believe that it would suit her temperament, to watch two past acquaintances of her brother fight to the death."

"Interesting. Now please note, before answering this next question, the contents of this cage." He leaned to the side and pulled up what had until that moment been a featureless lump of canvas in the corner. Inside, Medic Aera's daughter, reduced in stature from her manacled, triumphant earlier self, bound and gagged and wide-eyed with terror.

Everything stopped.

Aldridge's mind reached out in fury, looking for any way to end the cat's life here and now. A black cloud mustered and crackled behind his eyes, and he saw _everything_.

 _Weapons._  
Mounted on the walls, several different weapons - an axe, a scimitar, a plain kitchen cleaver. None within reach.  
A small knife, intended for opening letters. Too far away. Useless.  
The manacles would stop him from doing anything useful.  
 _The manacles, then._  
No signs of rust.  
A small amount of dirt baked in to the burn-joints between the chain and the manacles proper. Not enough.  
The padlock holding the chain to the table, barely rusted and certainly not breakable.  
The hoop in the table, bolted all the way through the timber and held down with some kind of resin.  
The table itself, hefty beams of thick pine, deep scratchmarks on the stone floor betraying it as far too heavy to move.  
 _...nothing._

The world began to move again. Aldridge made eye contact with the Apprentice Bowyer, and smiled as best he could. She managed a contortion of a smile as Nire began to speak. "You killed one of my staff when we first took your village. Would you do it again?"

 _Yes_ , he thought, as acts of barbarism flickered behind his eyelids. The wildcat, paws crushed, chained to his own table and left to starve to death. Abandoned in the frozen forest with the cords of all his paws cut. Strung up and gutted in front of his own boars, watching with his last breath as they feasted on the viscera. Clamped down and being carved up by one of the old Southern Horde's most brutal torturers...

"No," he answered, his voice perfectly level.

"Why?" Nire looked at him over a fresh brace of papers, eyebrow lifted in what might have been surprise.

An answer. Something that Nire would believe. It wasn't long coming.

"Why would I keep killing? My home is lost, my kinsbeasts scattered across your colonies, and the ones that matter most to me can be taken away with a single command from you. I will not promise you love or respect, but I will promise you obedience..." And then he couldn't resist the need to bite back at this predator who thought he had complete control. "...for as long as you last. Why, you must have all the armies of the South itching to bring a war to your doorstep." No reaction? That was odd. An experiment, then. "Not to mention those of the Nor-"

"Pah!" _There!_ Nire's ears flickered, his eyes narrowed in... concern? Anger? His voice came out tense, a little higher-pitched than usual. "What armies? There is nothing of import further north than us. Nothing."

Adeen's paw finally moved. From the corner of his eye, Aldridge caught the movement of paper and the flurry of the quill, and she made a little more sense to him.

Apparently he had allowed a sign of triumph to show on his face, because Nire stood up and stalked toward him. "I could tell you that your friends will all be dead tomorrow, and your only response would be to start plotting my death. You refuse to let yourself be cowed, don't you? Very well. Tullus, delay the next interview. This stoat might not fear me, but by Hellgates themselves I'll make sure he fears the dark by nightfall." He took a key from his belt, and detached Aldridge's manacles from the table. He wound the chain into his huge paw and dragged Aldridge out of the chair, knocking it to the ground. He didn't stop for fallen furniture, a snarl written across his face as he hauled Aldridge faster than the stoat could walk.

Ten or twenty of Nire's paces later, Aldridge managed to find his feet. He loped along beside the cat, trying to keep his freshly-banged shins and ankles from having to move too much as he was dragged along.

The walls changed, from wood and stone to only stone. The torches in their brackets were less frequently replaced here; they were deep down one of the support tunnels.

"Nix!" Nire's voice was swallowed up by the half-lit tunnel. "Where are you? Nix!"

A shadow coalesced, and the marteness from the caravan was there. "Aye, Nire? Food for Bessie?"

"Not food. Aldridge here has come to learn… perspective." Nire yanked on the chain and Aldridge fell to his knees in front of a set of heavy metal bars filling the entryway to an unlit cave that smelled… wrong. The cat leaned down, held the chains of Aldridge's manacles against the bars, and locked them to each other.

"When he's stopped screaming, take him back to the slave pen. Clean him up, feed him and let him sleep - if he can. Tomorrow, we find out what he's capable of."

Nire threw the key to Nix, and padded away.

"What did he mean?" Aldridge looked at the marteness, who merely shrugged. He found himself afraid, and before he could stop himself he asked again. "What did…"

Rustling movement from the cage  
As a mass of limbs and eyes awoke  
And unfurled itself  
And came to see what was going on

He turned to loo-

 **EYES**  
words  
left him  
the ability to reason  
left him  
a pitiful quantity of water and bread  
left him  
and spattered on the floor  
a hundred yards away  
right in front of him  
 **EYES**  
his mind  
 **SHEARED**  
thoughts fell apart  
replaced with nothing  
but  
run  
run  
 **RUN**  
but it would move too quickly  
if he ran  
he knew  
 **LIMBS**  
 **TOO MANY LIMBS**  
they would carry it faster than any night terror  
he knew  
too many joints  
too fast  
too quiet  
too  
 **WRONG** **  
** **EYES** **  
** **FANGS** **  
** **LIMBS** **  
** **WRONG**

Felt himself shuddering, soaked in sweat.  
Heard himself screaming and begging and praying - he had never prayed in his life.  
Watched himself trying to scrabble away from the abomination, whimpering whenever a paw came too close to the creature of eyes and limbs and fangs.

It came as a great relief when everything dissolved into hissing grey, and he felt the sharp thump of his head hitting the ground, and he surrendered completely to the void.

* * *

The world came back into focus, and thankfully it was somewhere new. Beasts were waking up all around him - ah. He hadn't been put back in solitary, then. He sat up, still shaking and empty from the previous day's exertion, and looked around. The morning's rousing call was coming from a half-rotten weasel in the middle of the pen, ringing a tiny bell and yelling in some incomprehensible accent. A beast stopped and helped him to his feet. It took a moment to identify him, but when Aldridge had, he said simply "Thank you, Not-The-Monster-Of-Mossflower."

He focused on himself for a little while. He tried to brush some of the pen-floor muck from his side, but the muck just smeared on his tunic and into his paw-fur. One shaking footpaw in front of the other, over and over again, following the bulk of the slaves along interminably long tunnels until the smell of mud and filth was washed away by the overwhelming smell of decent food.

Ah. A mess hall.

He looked up for long enough to work out where the smell was coming from, and tracked his way over to it. The scent woke him up a little - bread and cheese, nuts and berries, fish. He took one piece of each with trembling paws, but then noticed that other beasts were taking more - and being actively encouraged to do so.

He took a little more cheese, and a lot more fish.

He was on his second round, and finally feeling like the abomination wasn't about to burst out from somewhere and eat him alive, when a beast stopped in front of him.

He looked up to see the marteness from before, a look on her face somewhere around resignation. "You're to come to the archery range with me."

Aldridge swallowed. "Can I finish my fish?"

She nodded, and he did.

He stood, chewed the last mouthful as she led the way, then spoke. "Thank you."

"For what, slave?" She looked away into the distance.

"For letting the carpenters enjoy themselves one last time before we got here."

She shrugged.

He didn't try to strike up another conversation.

Various walls drifted past. The smell of fresh air grew stronger. They walked out into the sun, and Aldridge didn't realise how much he'd missed it. Light washed away the feelings of staleness and pushed the memory of that abomination out of his immediate thoughts.

Then he was handed a badly-made shortbow, and his day was freshly ruined.

"Whoever made this," he remarked drily, "needs to be shot with it. Actually, no - it wouldn't even kill them. Bludgeoned, then." He tossed it from paw to paw, utterly fascinated with the quality of the work. "It's not balanced. The nocks are all wrong. The grip is in the wrong place. Look, Commander. It doesn't even bend right. In fact…"

He turned, as though he were about to fire at the targets downrange. Raised the bow, paw to string, pulled back exactly as he would to place an arrow in a beast two hundred paces away.

The bow snapped into two lumpen chunks, and fell to his feet.

He kicked the pile of wood and string away, and turned back to her.

"Nire thought you would at least try to fire a few shots with it. Suppose I win that bet." The marteness was holding something vastly superior, and proffered it to him. "This bow is different. The beast who owned it passed only a few weeks ago, and it's been kept away from steam and water since then." It was stained dark green and covered with patterns of ivy and moss.

It was a fraction of a paw's length too short for him, but that wasn't a problem for Aldridge. He drew, gingerly at first and then with more confidence. "Much better," he murmured. "Arrow."

Nix handed him one without complaint. Aldridge briefly considered putting it through her eye - but somehow, even though she had been the one to take his whole blasted village captive, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He breathed in, held. Drew, sighted the closest target, released… and missed.

Two more misses, and then he was used to the bow and his muscles had woken up and things were starting to feel alright again. He stuck five targets with arrows and when he turned to receive the sixth, was met with an almost entirely unexpected beast.

The big cat raised a brow, handed him six more arrows. "Feldoon!" he bellowed. "The moving targets, if you please!"

Dust shimmered in patterns on the floor as old machinery, apparently neither well used nor well maintained, clattered to life. A cloth figure lurched up from the ground and staggered across the range, followed soon by another. Aldridge put arrows in their heads without thinking. The third was missing a head, so the arrow bit deep into where its heart should have been. Three more heads, and Aldridge turned for more arrows.

Nire raised his paws wide, exaggerating the fact that they were empty. "Keep the bow," he said. "I'm not convinced that any other beast here would use it or treat it so well as you will."

Aldridge put his left foot through the bow, rested the bottom tip against his right foot, pulled down ever so gently on the top curve until the string denocked itself. "It's a damn shame nobody thought to destring it before now," he said, somewhat reverently. "I'll have to re-cure it, and leave it to stand straight for at least a month to undo the damage. It's a beautiful piece…" A moment of thought. "Princess Revana didn't run away with her bodyguard after all, did she?"

Nire looked genuinely impressed. Aldridge didn't care.

He didn't pay much attention to the words flowing out of his mouth as he held the bow, looked it over again, savoured every detail. "Between the vine patterning, there are areas of exposed wood. The front and back of the bow have exactly the same rings. Most longbows are made from elm or yew, but those would have variation from front to back. This one is made from mulberry wood, which grows only in the warmth of the south. As for the rest - the bow is entirely regular. No compensation has been made for knots or twists in the wood. That means one of two things - this bow was made by a lousy tradesman, or it was the one perfect bow in a brace of a thousand that was given to the Royal Family by the maker. And since it shoots as well as your arrows will let it, the tradesman was not at all lousy."

Nire actually chuckled. "Nix, please throw our bowyers in the Crater the next chance you get. Moor and his Apprentice will be stationed here from now on."

Aldridge's ears snapped back. "What?"

"Revana and Theros did not produce any children, though we hoped they might. Nor did they pass their knowledge on to any of my staff - or rather, my staff could not stand to work with them. She was haughty, he was silent, they were both just as ornery as the worst of our boars. She never broke, either. The first fight after he died, she realised I had no leverage over her any more." Nire gazed out to the horizon, paw lifting to touch a small nick in his left ear. "She remained a spectacular shot to the very end. Their portraits rest in the Hall of the Great. I'll have to show you sometime. For now though, congratulations. You've got the job."

Aldridge's ears had not moved. "I meant the previous staff. You're just going to… throw them away like that?"

Nire looked him dead in the eye. "You'd argue they deserve to stay alive, when you destroyed one of their bows without even firing it? No. It's either that or feed them to the abominations in the Fell Wing. I know which death I'd prefer."

Aldridge had to concede, he had a point.

Nix unlocked the archery range's storage room, and they ducked inside. As Nire talked, Aldridge found a bolt of linen, folded the greenbow carefully up in it, placed it flat on a high shelf.

"You know what I'm seeing, Nix? I'm seeing fire! Night-time shows! Wicker balls, soaked in oils and flammables. One archer at the very centre of the arena, twenty four fire arrows. His first few targets are easy enough, but as they get more complex, will he hit them all? Imagine the whoops and cheers from the audience as machinery sweeps a wicker ball past them, and the archer takes aim, and oh my! Will his arrow land among the spectators? But although his shot is lazy and traces fire behind it, BOOF! The wicker ball catches and the spectators are bathed in a burst of light!"

They set on their way back to the communal pens - he had heard beasts referring to the general area as The Drag.

"Tell me, stoat - how's your shooting under pressure? Eight beasts with javelins - how would you fancy your chances? For that matter, how about your apprentice's? Eh?"

At this point, Aldridge took a page from Ulrich's book and tried very hard to glare Nire to death. "She is still a child," he said, voice flat as the Crater floor.

"Ah, is that so? Very well, hint taken! Aldridge Moor, the Archer Alone! Can shoot an apple off the head of your lady love at fifty paces! How are you in close quarters, boy?"

"Ha!" Aldridge choked on the laugh as soon as it had escaped. "I'll have forty seasons under my belt soon enough. Boy indeed. Close quarters, I fancy I can hold my own."

"Very good, very good."

Aldridge wondered for a moment if Nire even remembered the rage of yesterday, or the sounds of his screams from the other end of that 'Gates-forsaken tunnel.

"You will be sent for, Bowyer." He had a twinkle in his eye now, and Aldridge found himself very glad of that. He also found himself back in the mess hall, and as Nire and Nix walked away, Nire animated and booming about fire and spectacle to every beast who got within range, he realised that the damn cat had made a very good start on breaking him.

A slow wave of fury tried to build up inside him but he found he did not have the resolve to stoke it. His anger passed.

He sat down, trying to take stock of the last couple of days. His claws scratched patterns in the table he was sitting at, sometimes hesitating, sometimes changing direction, as he watched beasts wandering to and fro. Some were doing exercises - running on the spot, press-ups, what-have-you. Pairs were walking in from the training area, laughing off fresh bruises and promising to get each other back. Some of the smiles were visibly false; beasts trying to make the best of this new and terrible deal. Some of the smiles were real.

If he looked away too quickly, some of their tails looked like... limbs.

He stopped scratching at the table, brushed away the dust, and stood. The training area could at least prove to be a diversion. He stomped on a discarded spoon on his way to it, and found himself in front of a table arraigned with weapons of all kinds.

Blacksmith Ulrich stood on the other side of it, glaring at everybeast and acknowledging Aldridge with the same glower. "Bowyer," he said. "They're all blunted." He gestured to the various wooden and metal weapons on the table.

Aldridge hefted a few experimentally, finding one that suited him. His eyes meandered, surveying every inch of the table - every knot in the wood, every scratch in the varnish, every weapon in its place. "You've arranged them by the age of their design," he said.

Ulrich looked a little proud. "Aye. Gives a beast like me a little pleasure in this awful place. What you're holding there, while a shortsword to you, is a Marlfox skirmish knife. Note the irregular double-edge, clearly inspired by the shape of a leaf. Hold it one way, and the broader edge is perfect for slashing. Switch your grip, and it becomes a piercer. It's been perfectly blunted - you'll leave nothing but bruises on any beast you hit with it. Even more interesting, they've come up with a metallurgical technique that makes the blade all but impossible to ever resharpen. But they have at least one live-blade for every dulled blade here, so whatever your preference, you'll be able to fight with the real thing when the time comes."

Aldridge nodded, then remembered something. "The vole told me about Philpott's… fevers. How is he doing?"

The mouse's eyes hardened, inasfar as that was possible. "He hasn't eaten since we arrived. Screams whenever food's put in front of him, can't understand that it's not riddled with bugs. Same reaction to water, though at least he'll drink from the wash-house sluice. He loved the forest, and these monsters took it away from him, and now he's broken and there's nothing that any of us can do about it, save Aera."

Aldridge looked into Ulrich's eyes and saw exactly what he feared. Anger, sadness, the beginnings of resignation. For a moment, he imagined driving the Marlfox blade into Nire's gut. The satisfaction of the thought immediately disappeared when he pulled the knife out and instead of blood, that damned abomination started to force its way out through the hole.

He shook his head, hard.

"I'll do what I can. Even if it's only avenging him."

He bit down on the fear and the rage threatening to bubble over, and he turned to the training area. Easily a score of beasts, trying their skills on each other. He watched for a little while, gathering himself. He felt that old battle-ready electricity start to crawl through him again as he watched, noticing the swings that went too far, the moments where a beast lost control of their weapon, the footwork that could exploited for a cheap win.

A female ferret in blue raised a short sword to him from across the area, and he nodded. As he moved closer to her he took note of her stance - feet placed as though she would be fencing, sword down but ready to strike in any direction, startling blue eyes firmly locked on him. "Ability?" she asked.

The lightning was rushing now, memorising every line of tension in her body as though she were another bow to be mastered. "Bowyer first, unarmed second, short blades third. You?"

She nodded. "Short blades first, long blades second. Your short blade trainer?"

Aldridge noted the lilt in her voice, the adjustment of her left footpaw, the tightening of her paw around the short sword she held. "A beast somewhere between a cat and a bear, twenty seasons hence. Yours?"

"Well, for as long as we're giving an idiot's answers…"

She swung at him. The tip of her sword came up from his lower right, aiming true for his throat. He dropped his paw, caught her blade on the flat of the Marlfox knife and pushed it upwards. To her credit, she pulled her arm back almost immediately, affording him no opportunity to strike while she was overextended.

He swung at her, a strong blow that came in from her left, level with the ground. She took a long step back and that was all; it was exactly the right thing to do.

"Who was your tutor?" he asked.

She stepped back in, right footpaw skidding round to keep a second point of contact with the floor. She held the short sword like a rapier for a moment, at a slight angle but unmistakably headed straight for his chest.

Aldridge grabbed her paw, placed his thumb on the knuckles of her smallest claws, forced them up and around. The unexpected line of tension jostled the short sword from her grip and careened down her arm, twisting her shoulder in sympathy and pushing her down to one knee.

Both weapons clattered to the ground.

They stayed there for a moment, then Aldridge released her paw. She stood up, massaging it slightly. "I trained under Harrogale Khor, who served here for fifteen seasons. Never saw anything like that, though. Doesn't even hurt."

Aldridge picked up both swords, and handed hers back to her hilt-first. "Like I said. Bowyer first, unarmed second. Lines of tension are all the same, whether they be in the wood, the cord, the flesh or the bone. And no, it's not meant to hurt. Just to destabilise, and disarm."

"...show me again."

Her blue tunic stopped mattering. He was teaching someone something new, something that they were interested in. He showed her the motion five times slowly, all on her own arm, then invited her to try the same on him. They traded notes on their teachers and their combat history as she worked out all the details of the lock, and when she successfully executed it on him, he was as proud as she was.

It was good, to have someone his size and strength to train with. Even if they were technically the enemy.

This was time well spent, Aldridge realised. He was bringing himself back to centre again, remembering who he was, losing his concerns in the lightning mindset of the fight, learning, teaching, being. He found himself looking forward to starting work proper on the archery range.

And then he thought of Cricken, losing his mind somewhere nearby. And he thought of all the villagers who had been ripped away from their parents, and from their children. He thought of the oldsters and the dibbuns, by now long since settled into a new home, wondering where their relatives had gone. He thought of the Squirrel Princess Revana, last of her line. He thought of the Crater's now-ex-bowyers, due to be thrown onto the altar of Nire's ambitions.

He realised that every beast here would be thrown there before too long.

He turned back to the blue-eyed ferret, who had been watching him as he stared at nothing, and let out five long-suffering words.

"I really need a drink."

"Aye, that you do." The blue-eyed ferret met his eyes. "First few days here, aye? Makes anybeast tense! Come on, I'm buying. Nire pays his craftsbeasts, even when they're slaves. Gives 'em a little something to work for, an' scuttletail says you're the new bowyer - you'll be able to repay me soon enough."

There was a Winners' Lounge, which was apparently reserved for not only the Winners but also for the Crater staff.

The ferret asked him about life down South in the olden days as a little dig about his age, and he asked about life up North in the olden days as a little dig about hers. The evening slowly disintegrated in a pleasant, uncontrolled fug. At some point they realised it was past curfew, and they staggered back to their respective sleeping quarters. She made some excuse for him at the entryway to The Drag, and he barely noticed the smell as one of the guards dragged him down into the dirt and the filth and shoved him into the male half of the sleeping pen.

The night was filled with sleeplessness and unwanted thoughts. The hellspawn abomination. The helpless Young Aera. The screaming Young Cricken.

Madder Barrow burning.

Nix came to collect him from breakfast again the next day. She did not comment on his bedraggled appearance, nor upon his apparent sensitivity to sound and light. She took him back to the archery range, and unlocked a different door this time. Inside was the bowyer's workshop, and Apprentice Bowyer Aera. They hugged, and Aldridge felt a prickling around his eyes. But he wouldn't let Nix see that, so he let go with a fake chuckle and started to tell her about all the beasts he'd encountered and the things he'd seen.

Nix interrupted. "I'll tell you now that Nire expects this place to be up and running in a few days. You will be paid a small retainer for your services; here is the first week's." A small pouch of coins hit the worksurface closest to the door with the dusty half of a metallic thud. "I wish you luck in your endeavour."

She left without another word.

Young Aera looked up at him, and whispered. "Everything's gone." And she started to cry, and he couldn't keep himself from doing the same.

An hour later,  
when the last tear was shed,  
when they had finished telling each other all of the awful things that happened since their arrival,  
when Aldridge had finished apologising for her treatment at Nire's paws,  
when she had finally convinced him that it wasn't his fault,  
when they had finally hammered it into each other's heads that there were still true friends around them,  
they got to work.


	16. Virtue and Terror

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Virtue and Terror**

 _By: Silas_

* * *

All was a spinning blur, accented by spikes of pain as Silas fell in and out of consciousness. He remembered being dragged across hard stone corridors, but not being thrust into a prison cell. He stared blankly up at the dark, dripping ceiling, then lifted a paw to feel at a metal collar fastened about his neck. He didn't remember that either. He rolled to a dizzying crouch and his stomach heaved. Yellow bile formed a small puddle beneath him and he closed his eyes until the throbbing eased. The knives and their sheaths were long gone, of course, but he felt for them anyway.

Footsteps approached and a mink guard peered in at the prisoner, banging a metal rod loudly against the iron grid. He grunted when Silas met his gaze and called out, "Rat's awake!" He sauntered away smartly while Silas leaned back against the cool stone wall to wait. After a while the scuff of boots echoed down the stone tunnel as beasts moved his way with purpose. A huge cat appeared, and Silas recognized the lynx from the dining hall crowd. Probably Nire, the famous showman in charge of the Crater. The mink strode up beside him, holding a spear leisurely.

"What do you think?" Nire tapped his chin with a finger. "'The Muddy Assassin?' No. 'Bard's Bane?'" They both chuckled, then the cat grew serious, addressing Silas directly. "Do you know, I have experienced so many assassination attempts, I've actually lost track of the number."

Silas watched the cat through half-closed eyes.

"I know you thought you were clever, sneaking in that window, but take some consolation in the fact that even if you had made it past my excitable bard, you would not have made it past my personal guards."

The rat stayed silent.

"Let me guess," Nire continued in a voice of boredom. "Some family member of yours was killed in my arena and you were looking for some self-righteous form of payback."

"Something like that." Silas muttered, his voice hoarse and low.

"Vulpuz, it gets a little old. And no creativity. No pizazz. At least you could have tried something with a little more style – flown in on a hawk or disguised yourself as a stone column. Both of those really happened, by the way, and neither succeeded." He tilted his head, pointing two claws at himself. "Obviously."

The mink beside him chuckled and Nire leered.

"The nice thing about assassins," the lynx patted the guard on the shoulder, "Is at least I know they will put up a good fight. Even if they do all end up dead." He winked at the bleeding rat and turned to leave. "Clean him up and throw him in the slave pen for now."

Silas cooperated all the way to the washing station where slave keepers started tearing off his muddy rags. He grabbed at his shirt, salvaging the thin bundle of parchment from the inside pocket in an obviously desperate motion, catching the attention of the mink. The guard motioned for the nearby ferret and otter to force it from the rat's tightly clenched paw, then examined the letters. With a grunt of disappointment, he crumpled them up in a wad and added them to the pile of muddy rags a vole was carrying off. "Don't bother logging any of that garbage." He waved a paw. "Burn it."

Silas's heart twisted in his chest, but he knew it was useless to resist. A pair of slaves worked a wooden sluice and the rat stepped under the gush of water on command. He stared dismally at his feet, watching black clay and blood filter down through his fur to his toes.

"Move!" the ferret shouted. Silas shuffled over to a drying room with a mesh floor, dripping sullenly until the vole from earlier handed him a stack of garments, keeping her gaze averted.

"Much obliged, ma'am." Silas felt the soft-woven fabric. "Are these to keep?"

She shrugged. "The former owner won't miss them." Then she scurried off, leaving the rat to dress himself.

A half hour later Silas was shoved onto the floor of a long, smelly cell filled with dejected-looking beasts. The door slammed shut with a clang and the guards departed. A single torch popped and crackled outside the prison, reflected in over a dozen pairs of eyes. They stared at the new addition, calculating the level of threat. Most turned away soon enough, curling back up in their makeshift beds. Silas found his own infested pile of hay and lay down upon it, feeling delicately at the gash on his head. A mouse had stitched up the wound in a rush, so it had at least stopped bleeding.

He lay wide awake, jerking every time a flea bit so that soon he abandoned the hay pile entirely, propping himself against a wall instead. The rat drifted in and out of sleep, so he was not sure how long the vole had been staring at him when he opened his eyes. She watched from the other side of the iron bars like a corporeal ghost.

Silas recognized the stumpy, twitching beast from the washing station. "Ma'am," he greeted solemnly. The vole gave a jerking nod. There was a movement and she held something pale out. Silas glanced around at the other forms scratching and shifting in their sleep and scooted over toward the bars. Five slips of familiar parchment wavered in the small paws, wrinkled, but smoothed and intact. Jubilee's letters. Silas looked into the vole's eyes, waiting for the catch. Instead she thrust them at him.

The rat accepted the letters cautiously, fingers trembling as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Thank you."

"Did she escape?" the vole's voice was scratchy and low.

"No." Silas folded the papers gently and slipped them into a new pocket. "She died three days before I arrived."

"I'm sorry."

Silas looked away.

"They say you were trying to kill Nire Borean."

The rat continued to look away, unaffected.

"But you sought another target."

Silas's nostrils flared and he glared down at the vole suspiciously.

"Don't worry," she added. "I won't tell if you don't let on about the letters. I was supposed to burn them, after all."

Silas calmed at the reminder. "What is it you want?"

The vole was quiet for a while before she finally spoke. "'Innocent bones build noble thrones.' I shall see them toppled."

Silas nodded grimly. "Then perhaps we can help each other." He extended a clawed paw through the bars. "Silas Hetherton."

"Adeen." She gripped his paw firmly.

* * *

Silas jolted awake the next morning. A guard was shouting and kicking at a nearby slave.

"Up, you lazy lot! Move yer sorry hides to the other end o' the Drag!"

Silas scrambled to his feet, head swimming. He stumbled the direction the ugly weasel indicated and soon found himself surrounded by a mob of squirrels, hares, hedgehogs, mice, otters, shrews, and even a scruffy young badger. There were a few vermin scattered among the woodlanders like weeds in a grain field, snarling and snapping at those smaller than them. The other slaves gave them their space as much as they did the prickly hedgehogs.

"Line up along the wall!" The weasel threatened with a studded truncheon. "Time fer inspection!"

The slaves obeyed, albeit with grumbles, growls and glares. These beasts were not broken, but they were controlled. The mouse that stitched Silas the night before walked beside the familiar vole, Adeen, who was recording information on a small chart. A weasel took measurements and forced them each to open their mouths in turn. Beyond them a pair of rats raced around the Drag, dusting beds with a pale powder.

When the mouse medic reached Silas, he bent his head low for her to re-examine the head wound, opened his mouth so she could check his teeth, and patiently allowed the accompanying weasel to ascertain the thickness of his arms, chest, and legs. Adeen scribbled fiercely throughout the process, determinedly avoiding eye contact.

"Good physical condition for his age, save the head wound," the mouse noted cheerfully, and moved on.

The stoat after Silas was not as cooperative, and actually kicked the mousemaid when she touched a sore canine. Silas leapt forward to help her back to her feet as the weasel started to beat the stoat slave in response.

"No – stop!" She reached toward the weasel, after accepting Silas's paw. "That was a pain reflex. He couldn't help it." She dusted off her blue tunic. "I'm alright."

Silas watched the trio leave once the inspection was complete. Not everyone who worked for the Crater did so voluntarily, it appeared. He had noticed both Adeen and the mouse medic wore collars. This explained their kindness and gave the rat some hope. He wondered how much of the Crater was actually run by beasts who did not share Nire's depraved vision.

"Fringe fight underway!" An otter called out, peering through one of the narrow slits along the stone wall that Silas had assumed were vents. Most of the slaves rushed to look.

"It's Bog, Renny and Gerda against Thrasher," a rat added, swallowing thickly. "Thought they were trainin'."

Silas stepped up to one of the long window slits, blinking at the blinding light until he was able to see through to the other side. It was a large, open field of sand, surrounded by high walls and scaffolding. Two rats and a mole stood together in a line as a giant lizard marched forward, lifting a humongous axe with such ease and confidence that it made the rat fear immediately for the trio, despite their holding weapons themselves.

"This is gonna be a blood bath," a mouse stated from his perch atop a water barrel.

In the arena the three beasts backed away, fanning out around the reptile as he sauntered up to them, hissing and swinging the axe in a display that was more show than attack. His red cape rippled around him as he twirled the axe and a roar shook the stones of the slave quarters. Only after a moment did Silas realize the rumble was caused by the shouts and stomping of the surrounding crowd.

One of the rats charged as the lizard was showing off, but the beast called "Thrasher" spun with the attack, bringing the heavy weapon around to smash into the rat's simple wooden shield. It splintered apart and the rat lost the arm that held it as well as the bottom half of his jaw as he was flung into the sand.

The mole, braver than Silas had ever given the species credit for, tackled the back of the lizard with his own smaller pair of axe blades, chopping deep into the scales so that the lizard bellowed with pain before whipping around and lopping off the dark, velvety head.

Silas wanted to throw up, but could not tear his eyes away as the last rat backed away slowly, barely able to hold his sword. He lifted his shield as the lizard bore down, but it was knocked easily from his paws. It quickly became obvious that Thrasher was playing with his prey, extending the fight for the sake of his audience.

The rat parried and jabbed with his sword, then fell as the long reptile tail knocked his feet out from under him, then the lizard leaped, bringing the axe down in an exaggerated arc to cleave the rat nearly in two. Another roar shook the arena walls and Thrasher lifted his bloody axe in the air, turning in a proud circle to the chants of the crowd.

Silas turned away at last, heart racing and eyes wide, until the noise died down and a distinctive laugh could be heard echoing across the arena. Silas pressed his eyes back to the opening and searched the stands. Blasio sat under a shaded roof on a distinguished platform, surrounded by servants, guards, and bright banners.

Silas ground his teeth together. He had seen himself in those rats, fighting a hopeless battle, lacking the skill necessary to survive. In fact, he knew from the moment he'd entered the Crater that he would probably die. But listening to Blasio Timberfell laugh as it happened was not something Silas was willing to imagine.

 _"That will not be me,"_ he pledged silently, curling his claws into fists. _"Whatever it takes, that will_ not _be me."_


	17. Desperation and Inspiration

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Desperation and Inspiration**

 _By: Komi_

* * *

 _Komi could see his back, but not his face. She knew who he was regardless, so she fought her way through a crowd of beasts who groped and grabbed at her. She opened her mouth to cry his name, but nothing came out. She screamed, but nothing still._

 _Like a rising tide, the number of beasts around her grew. Bigger. More paws to hold her back._

 _More paws dragging him further away._

 _A weasel, blood pouring from its ruined throat, blocked her view. She pushed past, yet it clung to her paw. Screaming soundlessly, Komi watched as a sea of red blood swelled up around her._

 _And swallowed him up._

Komi sat up, choking off a scream. She flung her scrap of a blanket away. It had twisted around her while she slept. Staring into the darkness, she sought her bearings as she shook off clinging tendrils of the dream.

Around her, other beasts slumbered, some heavily, some fitfully as Komi must have been. Iron bars surrounded the space and beyond them, more rock and more iron, and more beasts.

The Crater. That's where she was. A hell, like the one she'd run from at Redwall.

Komi hadn't thought her nightmares could have gotten worse than they had been in those days after Redwall, but here, in this pit of wretched beasts and never-ending blood, they were. Before the Crater, when nightmares had woken her, she'd picked up her pack and started walking, no matter the hour. She'd raised her voice in song, any song, and the pain of the nightmare would vanish with the notes.

Singing had saved her life.

Now she couldn't use the road and her voice to banish the ghosts who dogged her. Here, beasts yelled at her and threw things if she sang in the middle of the night.

Her damp fur clung like the paws from her dream. She shuddered and stood. She tip-pawed her way across the cell, stepping over other slumbering females, until she reached the water barrel. She took a long drink using the dipper hooked on the edge, then dumped one over her head and scrubbed her face and neck with trembling paws. Her paws caught on the metal slave collar around her throat, a constant reminder of just how trapped she was.

She sunk down to kneel on the floor and started humming a lullaby. She pressed her forehead to the hard wood of the barrel, feeling the reverberations of her voice in the wood. Hot tracks of tears flowed over her already damp fur.

"Komi?"

Her humming stopped mid note, as did the sob that'd been creeping up her throat.

"Komi," Aldridge said again, his voice a whisper in the dark. "Is that you? Are you all right?"

She closed her eyes and fresh tears cascaded down. She'd done her best to avoid Aldridge in the long days since their capture. The memory of him turning away from her, abandoning her again, hurt too much. She didn't want to be hurt like that again.

Never again.

"Oh, now you ask after my well-being?" Her voice rasped in her throat. "After all these seasons, now Aldridge Moor wonders how I am?"

"I've wondered for a long time. I missed you."

Komi snarled, turning towards his voice, but unable to see him. "You don't have that right! You left."

He was quiet for so long that she thought maybe he'd gone away, but then he spoke again. "I'm sorry. I thought it was the right thing-"

"The right thing to do!" The words came out in a shrill, whispered scream. "Well, it wasn't! If you hadn't gone... If you hadn't..."

A sob broke from Komi's throat. She clasped her paws over her muzzle, stifling any more that might slip out.

"Komi! What happened?" Aldridge asked loudly, his voice edged on panic.

 _Red walls above. Red blood below. Screams. Cries. Arrows. Not enough going up. Far too many coming down._

"Komi! Please! What's wrong?" Aldridge begged. "Please tell me what happened!"

"Shut it!" some otter in Komi's cell shouted. "Beasts are tryin' t' sleep!"

Aldridge fell silent and all that was heard was the soft noises of sleeping beasts and Komi's ragged breathing as she sought for control.

"Komi?" he whispered.

She pried her paws off of her muzzle. She used the water barrel to pull herself to her feet. She refused to look in his direction again. Refused to search for his face in the gloom.

There were so many things she could say. Things she wanted to say. But to say them hurt even more than staying silent.

So she said nothing at all.

She ignored the other stoat whispering her name desperately into the dark, and walked back to her sleeping space, humming quietly under her breath.

* * *

In the daylight hours, in the training yard for the slaves, Komi could work away her nighttime horrors. Seasons wandering as a minstrel had kept her in shape. Now the intensive training that the slaves were put through honed her body back to the condition it had been when she'd commanded her side of Galleran's horde.

She loved that part of it. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed feeling strong. Feeling confident.

But she never forgot the reason for this rigorous training. Never forgot that she was being trained to kill the beasts around her, or to kill the monsters kept in the level below them. Any one of those could kill her, would kill her, without batting an eye.

If her nightmares didn't drive her mad enough to do the deed herself.

She paused in her training exercises, breath heaving in her chest. She put the weighted, fake spear on a rack and went to get a drink from the water barrel. As she did so, her dark eyes roved over the walls and structures of this area of the Crater.

Could she climb that scaffolding over there? What times of day would it be unwatched and empty? Where did that doorway over there lead to? Deeper in or further out?

She took another drink, continued looking, then met eyes with another beast. Hapley, the fox they called the Crane. One of her trainers. He stared at her from across the practice yard, his good ear cocked up and eyes narrowed.

She dropped her gaze and went back to fetch her spear. More drills. More exercise. But every chance she could, she looked for a potential way out.

"Right, yew sorry lot," a trainer yelled. "To th' baths and dinner wit ye!"

Komi moved with the crowd to put away the weapon she'd been training with and join the throng into the depths of the Crater. Ahead of her, she saw Aldridge glance back her direction and she slowed, purposefully ducking her head lower than those of the beasts around her. She did not want to talk to him. Not now. Not ever again.

She hung back, letting the crowd put distance between them, until she was at the back of the group of slaves.

A heavy, hard paw landed on the scruff of her neck. "We need to talk."

The words were barely out of Kentrith Hapley's mouth before Komi backed up and tucked her head. Snarling, she twisted on the trainer. One paw grabbed his wrist where it slipped from the nape of her neck. The other reached for a dagger she didn't have. She hesitated. Hapley's left paw nailed her hard in the stomach, winding her. He slammed her hard up against the wall. She got one weak kick in before something sharp touched her throat.

"Don't be a fool," the fox snarled in her face, as he pressed his scalpel against her neck. "You've been stupid enough for one day already."

Komi grunted, "What are you talking about?"

Hapley's eyes narrowed. "Anybeast who's been here as long as I have knows the signs of a beast about to run."

"I'm not running anywhere."

Hapley snorted a laugh, "Aye, and tell me another. Maybe I'll believe that one."

Komi stared up at the fox, and a tremor ran through her. But what could she say? Couldn't tell him the truth.

Hapley sighed and his grip loosened. The scalpel lowered and folded. "This place gets to beasts. Gets in under their skin and into their heads. I've seen it before. I've been there before." He gave a little shudder of his own. Then his eyes found hers again. "You can't escape from here, stoat. You have to fight your way out, tooth and claw, until you earn it."

"I can't…" she said and her voice broke. She shuddered under his paw and closed her eyes. She wasn't afraid of the fighting in the arena. She wasn't afraid of the blood and the death that happened in that ring.

She feared the night alone and what came from her own head that she had no control over.

"Yes, sir," she managed to say. "May I go?"

The fox stood so quietly that Komi thought he hadn't heard. She prepared to repeat the question, but his paw squeezed her shoulder.

"Beasts don't escape the Crater, stoat," he said, as he stepped away. "That access tunnel to the scorpion pits is a death trap for any who use it." He gave Komi a light shove towards the door. "Get inside and wash."

Komi rushed away, bumping into Aldridge in the process. She didn't stop, though, and hurried into the dark confines of the Crater's tunnels.

She found a quiet corner and curled up for a few minutes while her heart slowed its too-rapid beating. If the trainers already suspected her of trying to run, then she had an even slimmer chance than she thought.

"But I can't stay here," she whispered. She looked down at her paws, trembling at the thought of another night trapped in this place. "I'd be better off going in that scorpion pit he mentioned."

Scorpions. She'd heard the others talking about them, but had yet to see them herself. She hadn't explored those lower levels yet, though during the day, the slaves were permitted to roam down there.

Scorpions. She hadn't seen them parade the monsters through the caves where the slaves slept.

"Access tunnels," she murmured. "They have tunnels to get them to the arena… and tunnels to get them in from the outside?"

Komi pushed herself to her feet and went in search of the baths, thinking as she followed the trailing edge of the slaves working their way deeper into the Crater.

The baths, at least for the slaves, were not anything of the sort. The slaves separated into male and female, stripped off their tunics, then took turns standing under a sluice. Above, a pair of slaves worked a pump to keep a steady stream of water flowing from somewhere. Both garment and slave got rinsed under the cool water. The room off of that was simply series of benches around a slatted wood floor and some of the slaves lingered here, allowing fur to dry and wringing out tunics as best they could. Komi wrung hers out, dried her fur as much as possible with it, wrung it out again, then slipped it back on before going in search of supper.

All the while, she kept mulling over Hapley's words.

After she had eaten, Komi strolled down to the level below. Guards stood here and there, too many for her risk doing more than look around. They glanced at her, and kept her in the corner of their eyes, but they didn't stop their conversations, or their games of dice.

So she strolled past the cages, caves, and pits. The pits and caves had metal grates over their openings, with gaps between the bars of various sizes. Some of the them stood empty, just clean straw strewn about on the ground and no monsters to be seen. Then there was the massive, hard-shelled monster sitting in the corner of one pit, huge claws positioned in front of it. As she approached a cave, an enormous spider loomed from the darkness, long legs skittering on the stone. Komi shivered and walked on, glancing briefly down at the an oversized lizard in the next pit, then at the snake in another.

Horrid fascination pulled her onward, until she suddenly realized that she had no idea what a scorpion even was. Could have been any of those monsters she'd already seen.

She squared her shoulders and walked over to the closest guard, a ferret who'd been sharpening his dagger on a stone. "Excuse me?"

"What?"

"Some of the others were talking about the monsters they looked forward to facing and they mentioned something called a scorpion? It sounded intriguing to me, so I wanted to see what they actually looked like."

The ferret laughed. "Ain't never seen scorpions before?"

"No, sir."

He pointed with the dagger at a pit just a little bit past them. "They're in there, but mind you keep your distance. They're quick with those stingers."

Komi nodded as she backed away. _Stingers?_ she thought apprehensively as she walked to the pit and edged up to the rim.

The bottom of the pit was black and shiny and she squinted, trying to see exactly where the scorpion was.

"Chuck a rock in there," the ferret called. "Stir them up a bit if you want to see them in action."

Komi went in search of a decent rock and came back with one just a little bigger than her paw. She stood on the edge of the pit and dropped it between the bars.

It clacked off something below, and the whole floor of the pit came alive with motion. Numerous black shelled things skittered about, claws snapping and tails arched high in the air. Komi squeaked and jumped back and the ferret guard laughed as he strolled over.

"They're something else, aren't they? Nire brings them from the far south every couple seasons. These are mostly the little ones right now. Last big one was killed in the arena last season, so we're hoping for a few new big ones with the next caravan."

Komi cleared her throat and leaned back over the pit carefully. "Those are little ones?" Each black body was maybe half the length of her own, but that didn't include the tails and the claws.

The ferret laughed and slapped her on the back, half lurching her into the pit. "They say they're just as poisonous as the big ones though. Them stingers, they'll paralyze you in short order. Sometimes even kill you, if you're not strong enough." He bared his teeth at her in a savage grin. "Still looking forward to facin' one?"

Komi exhaled slowly, crouching down by the pit. "It'd be a challenge," she said, as she watched the scorpions settle down from the disruption she caused. "Mind if I watch them for a bit?"

The ferret guard shrugged. "Just don't fall in, unless you want to be a little stoat snack. We keep them hungry, on Nire's orders. Makes them a whole lot more vicious in the arena."

As he walked back to his post, Komi turned her attention to the scorpions, and more importantly, to the pit that housed them. To one side she could see a metal grate set in the wall of the pit at ground level with the scorpions. She gathered that the pulley and chain attached to the grate would pull it up and allow the scorpions out, presumably to the arena.

Just opposite her, against the far wall, was a smaller hole. Also covered by a grate, this one sat just below the bars that criss-crossed the top of the pit. It looked big enough for one of the scorpions to be able to wiggle through. The grate itself was hinged at the top, but not latched.

 _Access tunnel_. Komi closed her eyes and tried to orient herself with the outside. Assuming that tunnel ran more or less in a straight line, where would it pop out? Did it also lead to the arena, or did it lead to the outside?

But to get to that tunnel, she'd first have to cross the grate on top of the pit, then squeeze through the bars to get to the smaller tunnel, and she'd have to get that smaller grate out of the way so she could get in.

Without falling into the pit itself.

 _"That access tunnel to the scorpion pits is a death trap for any who use it."_

Had a slave tried to escape from there before and failed? Or been successful?


	18. Haunted

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Haunted**

 _By: Kentrith_

* * *

Kentrith watched the stoat he had just struck shuffle towards the slaves' washroom. He breathed in shakily, rubbing his shorn ear in an effort to relieve the anger and despair raised by the other beast's trapped look. She had hidden it well, but for her eyes. That trapped, frantic look was all too familiar to him.

His breath rattled in his lungs, as visions of bloodstained paws and crazed eyes overwhelmed him for a moment.

 _\- Paws clutching to the otter's head -_ _  
_ _\- Bloodstained bandages unwinding -_ _  
_ _\- Dead eyes -_ _  
_ _\- "I can't stay in this place," she whispered -_

Another body slammed into his, shocking him out of the memory. He staggered, catching himself against the wall.

"Watch yerself," Hargorn snarled, also slightly off-balance from the collision. He sneered, and Kentrith suddenly knew it had been on purpose.

"You watch it," he growled back, ears pinned back and eyes narrowed. His muzzle curled, showing his fangs.

"Really," The sneer slithered through the hall. "I should watch it? 'M not th' one who's been gone. 'M not the one who left w' m'tail between m'legs." The weasel's own ears pinned back and his voice turned vicious. "An' 'm not th' one who'll have to watch m' step 'round here." He smiled widely, with more teeth than necessary. "I only wish it were me who'll hand yer head to Nire to put on his wall."

"You're a ghoul," Kentrith snapped, brushing off his clothes. "You can't fight your inadequacy out on others won't change that. Learn to accept it." He turned to leave.

"Yer big, fancy werds won't keep y' frm lunch duty!" Hargorn called out to him.

"What?" barked Kentrith, turning. "What about the guards?"

"They're busy," the weasel called back, sniggering. He waved at the fox, muttering as he walked through the doorway, "Wassa ghoul?"

Kentrith fumed all the way to the mess hall. Couldn't anybeast without collars do their actual job? No, he knew what this was. Hargorn had found something else for the guards to do, dropping the entire mess on Kentrith.

He stepped through the door and was immediately plunged into ordered chaos. Beasts with collars were in every stage of the meal, some snatching clean plates where they waited by the kitchen door, several waiting in a line to be served fish stew, with a plate of greens on the side, others shoveling food into their mouths as quickly as they could, while yet more were stacking the plates and utensils in large pans to be washed.

All activity ceased when they caught sight of him. The dead silence stretched on, and Kentrith began to feel alarmed. Suddenly, several beasts jumped up, food still on their plates, while others crashed into each other in an effort to leave the room first.

 _Ah,_ he thought, disgruntled. _Everybeast hates the trainer. I had forgotten._

Heaving a sigh, he made for the kitchen door to take the traditional post by the mush pot. Somebeast grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. A paw pushed on his chest, shoving him toward the wall.

Kentrith grabbed the shoving paw, yanking his assailant with him. He turned the backward movement into another turn. He pinned the attacker against the wall, pressing on the stoat's throat with his right arm. His left claw hovered over the gut, ready to rake if the other beast continued his aggression. Something tickled Kentrith's throat, and he looked down.

It was a spoon.

All movement in the room had stopped, and the slaves were all staring at the two of them. Kentrith hastily dropped his arm and stepped back, then reached to clap the shocked stoat on the shoulder. "That's exactly what I was talking about!" he exclaimed. "The element of surprise! Next time, though, don't hesitate with your jab. Slice their throat, and they're out of the game."

The room slowly unfroze, and Kentrith breathed a sigh of relief. He eyed the stunned beast, who in turn was staring at the spoon as if it had betrayed him. "Hungry, are we?" he asked dryly.

The stoat, Alden, or… Aldridge, that was it, glanced up at him, then down again and sighed. "Pretend it's a knife?"

Kentrith tilted his head at the subtle humor. "Funny," he replied. "Your methods could use a little work, though. Any particular reason you're attacking me?"

The bemused glint faded from the dark eyes, and the face hardened. "I don't like it when my friends are mistreated."

Kentrith crossed his arms, frowning. "You mean the other stoat?" He shrugged. "I didn't hurt her badly, and I needed to speak with her. Since we were still in the training pen, her attack on me wasn't that serious." He raised an eyebrow and dropped his intact ear. "Yours, on the other hand…"

Aldridge winced.

Kentrith sighed, surreptitiously glancing around the room. "I won't make an issue of it, since you haven't been here for long, but you must be careful. Not all slaves are unhappy here, and some will look for any advantage." He speared Aldridge's eyes with his own, making sure the other was paying attention. "Especially in regards to personal relationships with other slaves." At the other's widened eyes, he waved a paw. "I'm not threatening you, I have no need or wish for promotion, but I would strongly advise caution."

He glanced at the spoon held loosely in the stoat's paw, then smirked. "You should get food, if you haven't already. You're armed for it!"

Aldridge ruffled his head fur sheepishly. "This isn't even my spoon. I thought I saw somebeast holding a knife, twisted it out of their paw on the way over here to threaten you." He away, his gaze slightly unfocused as if he saw something at a distance. "Well, as long as Komi is alright…"

Kentrith hesitated, then nodded jerkily. _Nobeast is really safe in this place._

As the slightly humbled stoat shuffled away to get a plate, Kentrith wondered why the name he had uttered seemed familiar.

* * *

Kentrith stood at the back of the staff section, wishing he were anywhere but here. All of Northvale (at least the parts of Northvale that could afford it) were trickling into the stands. The slaves had gotten a week of training at Kentrith's paws, and after a pair of matches to rile the crowd up, they would be tested to see if they had what they needed to survive here.

It would either be a bloodbath, or completely humiliating, and Kentrith wanted nothing of either.

The name Komi still tickled the back of his mind, and he had scanned the female's face over and over again in his mind, trying to bring up any memory of it. More and more, he was believing he had never met her, but perhaps her name had been mentioned somewhere. He sighed, and leaned against the wall, resting his head against it as he poked and prodded mentally at the lock box he kept his memories in.

Instead, one surfaced without his permission.

 _Watching roses be dead-headed would not have been at the top of Kentrith's list of "fun things to do," but somehow watching the old mouse remove the wilted blossoms was extremely satisfying. The mouse, catching Kentrith's stare, chuckled._

 _"I've always been fascinated with this process," he supplied, continuing with his task. "The idea of removing something dead to make room for the living is invigorating."_

 _Kentrith nodded, still watching the flowers being snipped from the stems. "It's just like cutting away dead flesh to allow new growth." After a moment, he winced, realizing how horrific his description would be to this gentle beast._

 _After a long moment, there was a quiet chuckle. "An accurate, if somewhat graphic, description."_

 _"Forgive me," Kentrith blurted, turning to the mouse, "I am… or was… a healer. That is how my mind works."_

 _A few more moments of silence built while more stems lost their heads. Then the mouse asked, "You speak as if you are no longer a healer. I have never pressed you about your past, but… is there any reason you could not be a healer again?" He looked up into Kentrith's troubled face. "Your heart is tender to otherbeasts in trouble. I know you've lent a paw here and there, but always stopped short of committing yourself to the role of healer. I should like to ask you why. It is clear to me, and I think that if you were to ask any other beast here, they would agree - that your purpose lies somewhere along that path. If you continue to deny yourself the journey… then you cannot hope to reach it."_

 _Kentrith said nothing._

 _The mouse stopped, turning his full attention to the fox. "What dead flesh needs to be cut away, Kentrith?"_

 _A face immediately popped into his head. One he had tried to expunge, one which refused to be forgotten. Rage and loathing pounded through him, and he mentally stamped it down into the lock-box it had burst from._

 _Just as quickly, another face replaced the first, just as distressing, but for an entirely different reason._

 _"I assume that you don't mean removing other beasts," he mumbled, trying to keep calm._

 _The mouse paused again, and Kentrith could almost feel his dismay. "It is hard," he finally said, "to be strong when faced with evil. But just because somebeast has treated you harshly, doesn't mean that you can take their death lightly. Every life is precious, and should be handled accordingly." He looked up, his eyes teary. "Always remember that."_

 _"But what if the evil cannot be eliminated elsewise?" Kentrith asked desperately. The second face was like a thorn in his side, goading him on._

 _"Motivation is always of great import when doing any task," was the reluctant reply. A wrinkled paw was laid on Kentrith's arm. "Just realize that once you start down that path, it is difficult to veer from it, and impossible to go back."_

 _Kentrith laughed bitterly. "Then my fate is already sealed, Father Abbot."_

 _The venerated mouse solemnly placed his basket on the ground, then took Kentrith's scarred paws. "Never give up on yourself, my son," he chided gently. "It is never too late to change things for the better, for you, or for other beasts." He gave Kentrith's paws a squeeze, then released him, reaching down to pick up his basket. "If you decide that your path to releasing yourself from your past leads away from here, just remember that the doors to Redwall Abbey will always be open to you."_

"Hap?"

Kentrith turned with a start. Nix was standing at the entrance to the stands, arms crossed with a stunned look on her face.

Kentrith smiled slightly. "Nix, it's good to see you."

She marched stiffly to a seat and sat down, her back to him. "I hadn't expected to see you again," she declared, not looking at him. "What brings you back?

Kentrith carefully took a seat next to her, unsure of his welcome. When she didn't snarl at him or take a jab at his nose, he settled into the hard chair and stared down at the sands below. "It was harder, out there, than I had thought," he told her. It was partially the truth. After a long moment, he added, "There were some things about this place that I couldn't leave behind."

Nix glanced sideways at him. "Marik?"

Kentrith bowed his head, staring at his footpaws. "Yes."

Several moments passed as the spectators flowed in, chattering excitedly about the fight to come. Nix finally broke the silence. "He missed you, too. I'm sure he would like a visit from you."

Kentrith shook his head. "I'm not allowed in that area."

She glanced at him again, this time bemused. "It's never stopped you before," she reprimanded.

"I…" Kentrith shook his head, trying to keep a quaver out of his voice. "I thought he might be angry with me. I'm not sure I can face him."

She snorted. "Would facing him be worse than fighting down there?" She waved at the arena.

"Of course it is," he muttered grimly. "I actually care what he thinks."

A moment's hesitation, then, "He might be upset briefly, but he's rather forgiving. He would be less so if you delayed any longer." She eyed him. "How long have you been here, again?"

Kentrith coughed, but didn't answer. She shrugged, then continued, "Nire is going to send me out again soon. Many of the slaves I brought back this time were craftsbeasts, which are needed, but he wants fighters. The new batch always goes through a culling in the first month, anyway." Her voice lowered, until he almost couldn't hear her. "It would take a weight off of my mind to know he has someone else to look after him."

Kentrith turned to her, meeting her eyes. He gave one nod, and she nodded back. They turned their attention back to the announcer who was climbing to his platform.

When the first roar rose around them, Kentrith casually rose and took his former position near the doorway. When the first sound of ringing metal sang from the sands, he slipped out.

* * *

Kentrith had to duck down a few side passages to avoid guards. Most of the staff would be watching the fights, especially when the new slaves would be thrown in, but some were ordered to stay at their posts, come Hellgates or flooding water. Usually, those who drew the duty were rather bitter about it, so any trespassers caught during a match were dealt with more severely than not. Kentrith's paws followed the old route. In places he couldn't avoid coming in the open, he would stop for a moment, commiserating with the disgruntled guards, and passing them a sweet bun from the tray he carried. There were fewer guards than there used to be, so the tray was rather full when he stood in front of the nursery door.

It wasn't until he raised a paw to open it that it occurred to him that Marik wouldn't even be here anymore. He had been only ten years old when Kentrith had shaken the sands from his coat and made for friendlier climes. He would be fifteen now, near grown. Surely, they wouldn't keep him in the nursery. Kentrith turned, unsure where to look for the young beast.

High pitched cheers resounded from behind the door, pausing Kentrith in his steps. Curious, he inched the door open, poking his head in.

The long room was lined with several beds, with windows on the far end letting in light and a table near the door. The beds looked as though the rascals had recently been jumping on them, and several of the bedclothes lay pitifully on the floor. In the back, two of the beds had been shoved close together, with spear hafts inserted into the space between footboard and backboard. A sheet had been tied to the hafts, creating a tent.

Under this tent sat several small beasts, bunched close together and staring up with open mouths at the creature standing before them.

The young marten was balanced on one footpaw, the other stretched out to the side as he endeavored to strike a gallant pose with an ax handle. His back, twisted and bent, prevented him from straightening all the way, but he still raised one paw in the air. The second face from Kentrith's memory, the one that had stabbed him with guilt, was contorted in over-exaggerated triumph. "The Great Martellan, with his bloody cloak flapping in tatters behind him, planted his spear in the sand. 'Today,' he told his followers, 'we will begin a new life. No longer will we fear the lizards that swarmed this island, for today!'" The marten raised his paw still higher. "'Today, I have vanquished the last beast!'"

Another cheer rang from the seated Dibbuns, who clapped at the end of the tale. Marik, relaxing from his noble pose, shuffled a bit, regaining his balance on his footpaws. One still did not reach the floor, and the twist in his spine caused him to lean slightly to the left. As the chattering babes swarmed him, grabbing at his simple clothes and dark fur, he smiled down at them, answering their lisped questions.

A gasp rose from one of them, a small otter. She stared at Kentrith with horror, her tiny paws clapped to her mouth. The other Dibbuns huddled together and stared at him while Marik turned clumsily to see what they were staring at.

Awkwardly, Kentrith entered the room, wishing he had brought something else, wishing he were somewhere else. He couldn't meet the eyes of the creature who had been like a son to him.

"Happy!"

The exclamation brought Kentrith's head up, and he stared in confusion at the widening smile on the young marten's face. Marik clapped his paws. "Alright, you ratten rots, get these beds cleaned and neat, and maybe Happy will share the treat he brought with him!" He eyed them sternly. "And they must be neat! No wrinkles, pillows _must be_ at the head of the bed, and Helix!" A small hedgehog froze. "Get all the food out of your bed and onto the table! You'll attract insects!"

A flurry of small creatures scattered around the room. A rat maid and a stoat maid, being older, untied the sheet from the spear hafts and stowed the staves under one of the beds as Marik limped over to Kentrith. "I'm so glad to see you!" he exclaimed, actually hugging the fox in a rare show of affection.

After a moment, Kentrith slipped the tray of sweets onto the table and hugged him back to the sounds of beds being dragged back into place.

"Marik," Kentrith mumbled, pulling away when it became awkward, "I… I'm sorry, that I…"

"Don't apologize," Marik told him, suddenly serious. "I'm not in the ring, or amongst the other beasts who work here, but I know that most beasts would leave if they had the chance."

"No," Kentrith said suddenly. "I'm sorry that I left you here. It isn't fair, that I am allowed to leave, and you are not." He looked down, swallowed, and continued, "And your mother refuses to leave you here." He looked up. "I came back to get you out."

Marik's smile vanished. "You can't," he said, dispirited. "I'm a slave remember?" He pulled at the collar that had grown with him. "A slave can only be freed if they fight in the arena, and no one can free another slave."

"That isn't the only way to free the slaves," Kentrith replied grimly. He lowered his voice to a whisper, looking Marik dead in the eyes. "What if there is no slave system? What if the arena emptied, and all beasts could go where they wished?"

He paused, took a deep breath, unable to believe that he would actually divulge his plans to another beast, then mouthed, "What if Nire were dead?"

* * *

Kentrith didn't stay for much longer. Many of the Dibbuns wouldn't touch the sweet buns while he was there. He thought that they were the new ones, still in shock from their transfer to the Crater. After waving to them all, promising to return with more treats and other things, and patting Marik on the shoulder, he checked that nobeast was about, and slipped out.

A distant roar told him that the matches were still running, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He ghosted his way through the hallway, pausing at the end. The empty tray would be no help in excusing him in the forbidden areas. He turned left, then heard a shuffling. He darted into a convenient doorway, quieting his panicked breathing to keep from being detected by the guards. Placing his back against the wall beside the doorway, he perked his ears, trying to catch every sound.

A shadow passed by the doorway, one that was oddly proportioned. He ducked his head out, looking for the beast that had continued on.

It wasn't a guard. It was Adeen.

 _What is she doing here?_

Frowning, Kentrith silently put down the tray, and slipped after her, placing his footpaws carefully to prevent scuffing sounds. She turned down the hallway to the nursery, and Kentrith's heart was suddenly in his throat. He didn't believe all the rumors about the Black Widow of Bastion, but she had confirmed some…

He hurried to the end of the hallway, and just caught sight of the closing nursery door.

A flick of his wrist dropped his scalpel into his paw, and breathing deeply, he reached for the door handle.


	19. Entry of the Gladiators

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Entry of the Gladiators**

 _By: Kali_

* * *

"Miss Kali." Nire began, flinching as Kali hit the rat yet again with her lute. It made a comedic _twang_ that belittled the seriousness of the situation. "Miss Kali!" He tapped the bat on the shoulder before ducking low, Kali's lute swinging over his head with enough force to send her spinning. Falling into Nire's arms Kali panted for breath, heart racing a million miles per minute. "Easy girl. I think you won the battle."

"I…I…I…" Kali chirped, glancing up at Nire behind her and then to the fallen rat. A look of horror distorted her face, "By the stars, I killed him!"

"Nooooooo. He's still alive. I think."

"By the stars, I didn't kill him!" Nire set the bat back on her feet, staying clear of Kali as her wings flapped about to illustrate her story. "He tried to _kill_ me! Did you see that? He came at me with a knife but I was like, SWOOSH! And he was like, 'STAB STAB STAB! I'm going to murder you with a knife!' And I was…he _was_ trying to kill me, right? RIGHT?" Kali pulled down on the sides of her face with her wings, "Oh, please tell me that I didn't just beat up some poor kitchen staff!"

"My staff are trained to cut cake, not bats." Kali followed Nire's gesture to her tunic. She was shocked to see a large opening cut into her chest tunic, with a slim red line appearing under her fur.

Kali wailed, "I'm slain!" She glanced to her right and another wail pierced the air as Kali noticed the gash across her arm. "AND CRIPPLED!"

Nire snickered but his amusement was quickly fading, "I think you are a little too loud to be slain. I do think you are in shock though. Guards." Nire snapped his fingers for the attention of the guards not busy attending to Silas, "Escort Miss Kali here down to the infirmary."

"I…I'm not crippled?" Kali whimpered.

"No, but your lute seems to have met its end." It took a moment for Kali to realize she was still holding her lute. Almost two pieces of it. Splintered down the side it hung precariously by the strings, a rim of cracked wood, and a prayer.

"I seem to have made quite the mess, haven't I?" Adrenalin caused the bat to laugh. "I completely ruined my lute. I don't even know what's keeping it together…"

"A shame. But hey, at least you still have your singing voice," said Nire in a rare attempt to be comforting. Instead the bat became suddenly very still. The world seemed to grow darker around Kali, as if a spot light was shining upon her.

"You…do know how to sing, don't you?" Nire raised an eyebrow.

"Of…of course I…" Kali seemed to shrink as the others closed in around her, faces becoming distorted by anger.

"She doesn't know how to sing."

"What good is a bard who can't sing?"

"She took Nire for a real ride, didn't she?"

"Made Nire the fool, didn't she! Hiring a bard who can't sing!"

"But I _can_ sing!" Kali wailed in her defense. She found herself very alone in the sea of beasts pressing ever closer. "Th-this isn't right!"

"What good is a bard who can't sing?" Again, and again the crowd chorused.

"Stop! That's not it at all! It didn't happen this way! I'm supposed to just go the infirmary! This is…this is just a…" The chorus stopped as Nire grabbed the bat firmly by the shoulders. Slowly, Kali looked up into the smiling, happy face of the lynx.

"You mean you _really_ can't sing?" He snickered, "I guess there is only one thing left to do now." Nire's grip tightened as he leaned forward.

"We have to eat your brain."

There was a pause, "What?"

Slowly Nire's teeth grew longer, his eyes turning blood red as the color of his fur became darker. Kali could only watch as the shadow monster that was once Nire opened its maw wide, and bit off her head…

* * *

Kali screamed, sending pillows flying across the room with her frantic wings. Back against the wall the bat breathed heavily until she remembered where she was. Sighing deeply Kali rubbed her eyes with her wing tips.

After getting her heart beat under control Kali glanced to the window. The morning sun was just beginning to peer over the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, but also a sign that Kali was up too early. She groaned, her shift not starting for a while yet, but still too soon to go back to sleep.

Stepping off the side of the small bed, Kali popped her lower back into place. "Beds are overrated." She yawned, stretching out the kinks in her wings, wincing when it came to her right arm. The wound was healing nicely but was still tender.

The room provided to her was smaller than a hayloft but certainly an upgrade. Only a week into her job and small decorations were beginning to creep into the room. A tribe of small cloth-made gladiators peered over the top of the wardrobe as Kali switched out her night gown for her uniform.

The bat emerged from behind the wardrobe doors wearing a small blue poncho. It was designed to be shorter, allowing the wearer to show off as much of their midriff as these parts considered decent… enough.

Standing in front of the full body mirror, Kali finished putting on the rest of her costume; brass jewelry along her wings and ears, and a motley collar. Yet another piece of her uniform, it fit over her shoulders with a star shaped pattern, each point ending in a big silver bell.

"I traveled three thousand leagues to become a jester." Kali chuckled, flicking one of the bells and giggling. Grabbing her signature purple sash Kali made note of how much tighter it felt about her waist.

"Well…" Kali said into the mirror, "How do I look?"

She pointed with both wings, "I think you look awesome!"

"Oh, well thank you! That is so nice!"

"But if you are going to be prancing around in that outfit though, you might consider a diet."

"Diet?! I've eaten nothing but fruit since I got here!" Kali frowned at her reflection, unable to deny the fact that there was more 'Kali' to look at in the mirror these days.

The mirrored bat crossed her wings, "Fruit isn't healthy if you eat it until you are sick, lass."

"Give me a break! This place has the finest fruit this side of Mossflower. I should know! I haven't found finer yet! And it's _freeeeeee_!" Kali said to justify her gluttony. "And I was almost murdered a week ago. Excuse me if I splurge a bit."

"Yeah, well, I ain't the one who has to fly back home to replace our lute. Just saying."

Kali sighed, rubbing her eyes with both wings.

"I need more friends…" her gaze shifted to the desk where her lute lay. Tenderly she picked up the instrument. Kali couldn't help but cringe. If only mere will power could mend the damage done to her most precious item.

Her off hours were devoted to scouring the market place for a replacement. It wasn't as if the city was lacking in merchants capable of fixing or replacing her lute; just not any she could afford. "It's ok." Kali took a deep breath, stroking the lute as if it were an injured pet. "You carried me this far and I will always be grateful for that." Slowly and with restraint Kali held the broken lute above the waste basket. Covering her eyes with a wing, she summoned the courage to let the instrument drop.

A knock at the door caused Kali to jump. Clutching the broken lute like a shield to her chest, Kali cautiously unlocked the door.

"Floofy!" she shouted, fear turning to joy. "What brings you by?"

Still dressed in his own evening gown the fox only stood there, leaning slightly to the left. Baxter's fur was frazzled and unkempt, his eyes unwilling to open this early in the morning. "My room is right next to you. And has very, very thin walls." His eyes opened only wide enough for Kali to see how bloodshot they were. "I can hear…everything."

Kali gulped, chuckling, "Everything?"

The fox leaned forward until he was eye to eye with the bat. "Every. Thing." He said dangerously. "Whatever that screeching noise you are making in the witching hours has GOT to stop."

"Screeching noise? I'm not making any noises like that. I'm just practicing my singing."

"I don't want to know what act you are planning to butcher, just leave me out of it. And keep it to day light hours like normal beasts, ya little freak of nature."

"Oh Floofy, ya silly beast." The fox was too tired to react to Kali's attempt at ruffling his head fur. "I firmly believe that inside every grouchy beast there is a lovable, tender soul just waiting for a chance to get out." Baxter the 'floofy' bard only groaned as the bat helped brush down his facial fur. "There, let us see that smile shine." Using her wing tips Kali forced the fox to smile. Or at least tried to. Kali blinked as she accidentally transformed the fox's already annoyed look into a snarl. "Or maybe not. Anyway, I'm sorry to keep you awake. I really am. I've been practicing at night because I spend the day looking for a new lute."

"Still?" The fox groaned, again. "Why don't you just take one from arena?"

"Oh, I thought about that going down to storage to get one but I found out they keep the slaves items there. It would just feel… awkward if I found out I was playing a slave's lute right in front of them."

"No, no. I mean… get one of the craft beasts to fix it, or build a new one."

Kali blinked, "… I can do that?"

"Does it get you out of my fur for a while? Then sure. Why not?"

"Floofy, you are a genius!" Kali enveloped the fox with her wings as she hugged Baxter tight. "Don't over sleep! We have to play for Nire later in the arena!"

"Don't touch me." The fox replied, still groggily standing in front of Kali's door as she darted off. Afterward the vulpine turned for his own room, pausing at the door. "Other way, bat." He shouted.

"I knew that!" Kali hopped past the fox after changing directions. Flying with her lute would only damage it further so she walked. By this point there was little left for the lute to do but serve as fire wood. But it was the last gift her family gave to her before setting off on this adventure. So, if there was hope it could be fixed then she owed it to the instrument to try.

That, and it saved her life…

* * *

The inner workings of the arena, both along the wall and underneath was a maze of corridors. It was not a place Kali found herself often, not since she came down here to have her wing mended in the infirmary.

It only took a few directions for Kali to find the beast she wanted. The stoat was in his workshop, an unfinished bow was on the desk before him, likely going to remain that way if he continued resting his head against the table. Like Baxter, Aldridge groaned at the morning light filtering in through the barred windows, but for completely different reasons than the fox. His eyes drifted up to the bow on the table, as if wondering how he could finish the weapon as slowly and quietly as possible.

"HI!"

"GAH!" The stoat leapt to his feet, reaching for a weapon. Instead his paw caught the edge of the stool and he fell backwards between his chair and the table. His eyes were frantic until they locked on Kali. The bat only smiled, wings folded behind her. "I hear you are good with wood work!" She chirped.

"Uh…Sure?" Slowly Aldridge pulled himself back to his feet, dusting off his clothes and getting a good look at the creature as if for the first time. He squinted, "Can I help you miss…" The fox-bat opened her muzzle to speak but was quickly cut off, "Kal-eee, I think it was? You are the new entertainer Nire hired, right?"

"The Amazing Kali. But yes. I take it word spreads quickly down here?"

The stoat gave the bat dressed in a jester outfit a raised eyebrow, "Sure, let's go with that. Can I help you with something?"

"That depends. Can you fix a broken lute?"

"I can look at it." Aldridge rubbed the back of his neck as Kali quickly produced the instrument from behind her back. Glancing at lute bent in an almost 90-degree angle, Aldridge's eyes drifted up to Kali's ever hopeful, almost pleading look. He chose his words carefully. "A crack or a dent I could fix, but this, Miss Kali, is kindling."

Kali's ears drooped. Her shoulders slouched and her eyes fell to the floor, "Oh."

With a sigh Aldridge said, "But, I might know a beast who may have a spare miracle hiding somewhere. Droven was in the rigging last time I checked. She was our village Luthier, now she works on trap doors in the arena. Come, we can go find her together."

Hardly able to contain her squeal Kali clapped her wings together. "Thank you so much! But, I won't get you into trouble for making you leave your post, will I?"

Rolling his eyes, the stoat chuffed, "I think Nire can afford to learn some patience. Besides, this will only take a moment. Follow me closely. We don't want to get lost in the underworks of the arena."

Later, in the underworks of the arena…

"I followed you."

"You did."

"... and yet, are we still lost?"

"We are." Scratching his head, the stoat turned to one tunnel and then another. If not for the torches, the underworks of the arena would be consumed by darkness.

"You mean you don't know your way around here?" Kali hid her whine with a slight chuckle.

"If I had been working here for more than a week, then yes. What about you? Can't you… you know. Do the thing?"

"What thing?"

"The bat thing." Aldridge said awkwardly, "The whole finding your way around by sound. Can't you use that to figure out where we are?"

The bat said in understanding, "Ohhh, yeah. THAT bat thing. Heh, my species doesn't do that."

"Really?" Aldridge asked curiously.

"Yeah, we rely on sight. In daylight." Kali peered into the darkness around them. She pointed with her wing. "I don't think we tried that way yet."

The stoat followed the wing, visibly tensing when he recognized the hallway. "That's not it." Kali was forced to follow the stoat as he moved down another pathway.

"Are you sure? Because this looks familiar."

"Positive." Aldridge's sharp tone was enough to make the bat drop the subject. And so, they kept walking.

And walking.

And eventually, "This still looks familiar." Kali said regarding the footprints on the dirty floor. Aldridge took in a sharp breath, finding themselves in the same intersection. To lighten the mood Kali said, "On the bright side, we now know for certain we are walking in a circle."

But Aldridge was not amused. He sighed, "If we follow our own foot prints we can see where we have not been."

"Like that hallway." Watching the bat point to the same hallway as before Aldridge seemed to choke.

" _Or_ like the hallway down at the next intersection. Come along. No time to waste."

"But…"

"I said, there is no time to waste." The stoat snapped, making the bat flatten her ears. If Kali was hurt it was only momentary.

"You're afraid of the dark, aren't you?" The stoat shot Kali a look like she was crazy. Giggling as she walked Kali said, "It really is perfectly fine. If there is anywhere in the world where you can be afraid of the dark it's here in the belly of a gladiatorial arena."

The stoat closed his eyes, "I am _not_ afraid of the dark. It is what is IN the dark that I am afraid of." Head lowered Aldridge continued in a serious but soft voice, "They keep… monsters here in the underworks. I just… happen to know that they are kept here. Down that hallway."

"How?" Kali asked bluntly, "All these pathways look the same to me."

"Because it is the hallway they…" The stoat paused, shaking his head, "Just trust me. It is not a good place to go down."

"Well that is too bad, because we are here again."

Stopping in the middle of the intersection Aldridge blinked. He looked down and then to the corridors around him, letting a soft cuss escape from his lips. Kali only laughed, "Come on, what do we got to lose?"

"Besides our lives?" The stoat laughed. Kali though, was not deterred.

"I'm sure the mean ol' monster is more scared of you than you are of it. Come on, it's the only pathway we haven't tried yet."

"Nooooooo." Aldridge backed away, shaking his paws at the bat. "No no no no. I am fairly certain that thing feeds on _fear_."

"Then it's a good thing you have a bat with you! We eat monsters for breakfast!" Aldridge only replied with an incredulous look, "It's true! As far as you know." Kali reached out, wrapping her wing around the stoat's paw, "Trust me."

Protesting with a loud whine, Aldridge let the bat lead him towards the hallway. To make sure he wouldn't bolt Kali wrapped her free wing around his shoulder. "Here we go. One step after another. You can do it!" The two continued down the dark path. Deeper and deeper into the belly of the arena they went. As they walked Kali began to hum. Eventually lyrics poured forth.

"There once was a troll, who enacted a terrible toll, from the moles of Marol Knoll."

"Actually…" Aldridge dared to laugh, taking one shaky paw after another, "I would have preferred a troll. There is a creature here. It... has loads of legs… and loads of eyes."

"Oh!" Kali rolled her eyes, "That's just a wee spidey! They're harmless things ye silly stoat!" Before the stoat could raise an objection, the song changed, "Mr. Spidy, why don't you come out and play. Mr. Spidy, it's such a wonderful daaaaaaaay!" The bat felt his grasp on her wing tighten, going stiff at her choice of song. Yet, despite the screeching echo that assaulted his ears, Aldridge did not ask the beast to stop. "Mr. Spidy, oh please come out and plaaaay. Mr. Spidy, Mr. Spidy, Mr. Spidy the sun is shining, the birds are singing, won't you come out to play."

Kali never noticed when the stoat closed his eyes. Only that she had to steady him once or twice, the stoat almost falling over as they passed several corridors.

"And here we are."

Aldridge dared to open one eye. They were back in the crafting rooms where they started. The stoat slumped his shoulders, breathing in relief until Kali swatted him across the chest with her wing.

"There, see? Not a hair or hide of a monster. Except for that one room where something was clawing at the door. That was a little creepy."

"Y-yeah. That wasn't so bad after all I guess. Thank you for the… wait, what?"

"By the stars! How long were we down there!" Kali slapped the side of her head with her wing. The area was filled with beasts now, both gladiator and entertainer. Each busied themselves with last minute preparations.

The games were about to start.

Kali waved to the stoat before moving for the stairs. "Thank you, Mr. Aldridge! I'll be back later!"

"Wait! You're lute! I can hold onto it for… and you are already gone." The bat, already walking up the stairs doesn't see Aldridge shake his head and say, "What is a creature like that doing working for a beast like _Nire_?"

* * *

"You're late." Baxter seethed as the bat flew into the hallway. Kali found the fox to be leaning against the wall. The Podium, the prime seats in the arena kept all to Nire, were just behind the double doors and a pair of fierce looking guards.

"If I was late, you wouldn't be here waiting for me." The bat retorted, clinging to the rafters above him.

"No, I haven't gone in because Nire doesn't want us there yet." The fox revealed a flask hidden in his garments. "Listen, this might be all sunshine and giggles for you, but I NEED this job. I have kits to feed."

"I didn't know you were _married_ Baxter." Kali gasped.

"I'm not."

"But, you have kits?"

"Yep, one in every city from here to Redwall. And I have to pay for every one of them. Magistrate said so." He took long swig from his flask before pushing away from the wall. "So, if you don't mind, kindly get your tailless rear into gear and get your act together."

The clamor of beasts coming down the hall stole Kali's chance for a reply, snark or otherwise.

"Good afternoon me lords." The fox took off his feathered hat and bowed. Kali did the same, upside down on the rafters. By now she recognized the faces of at least some of the beasts, if not their names. They were not just wealthy, they were the elite of Northvale.

Waiting for Nire's guests to enter first, Kali dropped from the rafters, walking into the room like a normal beast. As a private box to view the games, the wall to the left was missing. The rest of the room was a combination of ornate stone pillars and blue tapestries. A buffet table was set up in the back for beasts to feast at before migrating to their seats.

This however was lost upon Kali, her attention completely taken by the menacing hawk at the other end of the room. The bird's eyes fix upon the bat for what seems to be an eternity before turning back to their master.

"… good work. Keep me updated on the situation." Nire said quietly. The bird nodded once before taking to the air. As if seeing his guests for the first time the lynx greeted them with open arms. The happy conversation that followed was completely missed by Kali who stood still, ears flat as she watched the hawk fly off.

"Kali." A voice prodded the bat. More urgently it said a second time, "Yo, freak of nature." At once Kali came back to the present, glancing at Baxter who gestured towards Nire, "The benevolent Nire wants some entertainment for his lunch."

"O-of course! I was just thinking of new ways to bring laughter to you, sir!"

"By playing on a broken lute?" Nire's comment sent laughter through the guests like wildfire.

Inwardly Kali cursed herself for not leaving the lute with Aldridge. Or in her room. But there just wasn't enough time after that merry romp through the underworks. "If that is what it takes." Kali said pleasantly. "Perhaps some juggling is in order amid Flo- er, Baxter the Bold's wonderful music!"

A murmur of disapproval goes through the beasts. "Or maybe something more exciting than juggling. I know! You lot want to be beguiled by tales of adventure! Action! Romance! Fantastic beasts found only on the far reaches of the map!" The group's collective reaction showed that they in fact, did not.

"Stories are old news my bard," said Nire. "Show us something different. Something to get us fired up for the games."

"You mean like aerial combat between a hawk and a bat?" The lynx only gave an exasperated stare to Blasio. Not even ten minutes into the room and the glutton beaver had already finished his first plate of snacks. "Wouldn't take much to find her some armor. You could call her the Flying Assassin, you know, for the assassin she stopped."

"Blasio," Nire said through a toothy smile, "One of the reasons I like you, is that you know when to drop a subject before I get angry."

The bat however was too busy thinking about a new act to pay attention to the conversation. She hated to admit it but her lute was her strongest act. She played as if the instrument was an extension of her own arm. Her other acts were subpar for the feat required to entertain this lot.

But there was of course, one other thing she could do.

Opening her muzzle to speak Kali hesitated. Thoughts of singing only brought back unpleasant memories. For a brief instant, she imagined Nire changing into a horrible shadow monster and shivered.

If she sang, she would be repeating history once again and looking for a new job by nightfall. But if she didn't, her audience would be bored with her and… she be looking for a new job by nightfall.

Seeing his chance to step up Baxter ever so humbly announced, "Well _I_ have been working on a new song and…"

"It's a duet."

"W-what?" The fox whined as the fox-bat wrapped her wing around him, shaking him slightly as she said, "It's a duet! Carry us off Mr. Floofy, I will handle the lyrics."

"What, no! No, Nire…!" the fox began but it was too late. With a nod of his head Nire gestured to them both.

"Let's hear it."

Kali squealed with joy even though the only lyrics that came to mind were 'this will all end in flames', repeatedly endlessly in a loop.

The fox whined again in protest but it was too late. His fate was sealed. At this point, all he can do is play his tune and lead the bat in.

The beat was different than Kali was used to and while the music was more suited to the hallowed halls of castles she could compensate. She would have to commend Baxter later for his skill.

Provided he wasn't strangling her for getting them both fired.

The music brought to Kali's mind an older hymn, a more serious and somber song she played with her old troupe. Perhaps it wasn't as lively as the beasts had hoped but, they did ask for something different.

Kali took a deep breath, reminding herself that singing was just another way to communicate. She did this more to drown out the voices in her head telling her to stop, than to quiet her beating heart.

The bat held her wings high, preparing to dance. She closed her eyes and let the music guide her.

 _The valley green was so serene. In the middle ran Mossflower so blue._

 _A maidenbeast fair, in despair, once had met her true love there and she told him…._

The bat started her dance simple with slow spins and gestures, bells jingling as she moved.

 _The maid would say… "Promise me, when you see a blue rose you'll think of me. I love you so, never let me go, I will be your spirit of a rose."_

The beasts in the room took pause. Even Baxter for all his attitude found his eyes widening in shock.

And then the room exploded into laughter. Every night for a week Kali had worked to get the screech out of her voice, but its lingering presence was still there, slowly draining the power of her song and replacing it with… comedy.

A single tear rolled down Kali's cheek, realizing they thought she was butchering the song on purpose. Their laughter gave the bards time to exchange glances. With a silent stare Baxter asked if he should stop.

The bat however only shook her head, forcing herself to smile. She began her dance again, twirling and spinning and putting even more screech and noise into her voice. If they wanted comedy, Kali would give them comedy. Even if it required butchering her song with pieces of her own soul.

 _When all was done, she turned to run, dancing to the settling sun as he watched his vixen go. And ever more the fox did thought, he saw a glimpse of her upon the moors forever._

 _Promise me, she said, when you see a blue rose, you will think of me._

 _I love you,_

 _Never let me go,_

 _For I will be your spirit…of a rose._

Kali ended with a bow, using her wing to hide her face and the tears rolling down her cheeks. The song ended a beat later, Baxter swallowing a breath of air.

"Excellent!" Nire clapped, "Best laugh I had all day."

The lynx sighed contentedly, "Speaking of laughter… on to the games!" A shout of applause filled the air. One by one the beasts filed into their seats, the bat and her song forgotten.

Away from the eyes of wealthy beasts, Baxter slowly approached his fellow bard. Tenderly he reached out to her shoulder, "Kali…" he began.

"Don't." Kali's sharp tone made the fox retract his paw.

Wiping her wing across her eyes Kali turned to the fox with a forced smile, "I got to finish a song for once. No rotten fruit thrown at my head, no beasts running me off. I _finished_ a song. This is the best moment of my career, this is. So, don't you ruin it by feeling sorry for me."

Baxter could only nod in response. Without a reply to interrupt her, the bat laughed, "I could really go for watching beasts clobber each other right about now."

Sighing, the fox held out his arm to the bat. She took it and together the beasts found their place in the arena near the back, behind the chairs of Nire's guests.

Kali had never seen so many beasts together. Each row of the arena was filled to the brim. Woodlander, Vermin, and everything beyond putting their differences aside just to be here.

A shout of praise arose from the crowd at Nire's approach. Grinning, the cat raised both paws to the arena and the shout grew even louder. A large horn appeared in his paws, delivered by a slave the instant Nire snapped his fingers for it. "Beasts of Northvale, honored guests from beyond the woods of Mossflower, my friends…" The cat's voice carried easily in the acoustics of the arena.

Feral delight flashed across his eyes, "Are you ready to be _entertained!?_ "

The crowd howled in reply

"I can't _hear_ you!"

An earth shattering shout filled the arena.

"Then I welcome you to this year's Exhibition Games!" Nire's movements were excited, speaking in-between shouts from the arena, "We have a show for you, folks! One you won't soon forget! But let's kick this day off proper with what you WANT! A match up you have been waiting for!" The wicker gates at either end of the arena opened slowly, to build suspense in the crowd. "In this corner, from the darkest depths of the jungle it's…The Crimson Tiger!" A wildcat with tiger stripes painted down his back stepped into the arena. His face was covered by a bronze helmet made into the shape of a snarling feline. He waved his double ax into the air.

"Every Yin needs its Yang. Every Darkness needs its Light, so who better to tame the jungle than a beast from the snowy north…Timbeeeeer…WOOOOOOLF!" At the other end of the arena an arctic fox entered. He threw his short sword into the air, catching it and twirling it about his body.

"Let the games, COMMENCE!" shouted Nire.

Instead of rushing at each other however, the combatants began a slow walk towards the center while trap doors opened around them. Beasts poured onto the sand filled arena in droves.

These were not fighters, but felines dancing to the beat of drummers. Their dress was nothing but scandalous, their tribal like clothing was made from the same color of blue cloth as the flags twirled between their paws.

High above, a pair of owls flew casually over the crowd, dropped rose petals from baskets.

Altogether the sight made Kali's fur stand on end. There was so much to take in she dared not blink for fear of missing even one part. The rose petals raining down upon them, the beasts dancing around the gladiators, the heavy drum beat that drowned out all thought; maybe it was ok to swallow her pride and stick with the lute after all. If staying here meant butchering a song every now and again, it would be worth it. Just to be a part of all this.

Eventually the beasts reached the center of the arena. All but two of the dancers began to filter back into the exits. As they did the sand around the gladiators began to shift. Stoic and still, they stood there as the ground below their feet began to turn and rise.

With the gladiators on a platform three feet above the rest of the arena, the drums came to a stop so suddenly it made shivers run down Kali's spine. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, and the edge in Nire's voice as he gave the warriors the command to fight.

The two remaining dancers set torches to the edge of the raised circle. Fire spread around the rim of the platform from either direction until it locked the beasts inside.

The battle ensued.

Kali's squealed in delight as the battlers clashed, the sounds of their weapons colliding in titanic might. They dodged, they weaved, they pitted literal metal against metal in a fight so fast the bard hardly kept up with their movements.

"Do you see this? Do you see this?" Kali hopped up and down, elbowing Baxter in the ribs. The fox however only held his head low, keeping his eyes off the fight. Kali couldn't fathom why he would do this. Why would anyone not want to see this?

Cupping her wings together Kali shouted, "Come on Tiger! Knock his head off!"

And then, with a flash of steel and a splatter of blood, the Tiger did just so.

Kali's jaw went slack, ears flattening against her skull as the crowd around her went **wild**.


	20. Business for a Busy Beast

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Business for a Busy Beast**

 _By: Sly_

* * *

"Come now Giggles, we made a deal," Sly crooned, his paw outstretched. "I do your dishes, and you give me three copper. A deal's a deal my friend, you owe me."

"I don't owe you spit, vole!" the wildcat snarled. "I ain't seen you clean a damn thing for days! What am I payin' you for?"

"Now Giggles, you may not have seen _me_ cleaning, exactly, but rest assured, the chores have been done. Has Gerry made a fuss?"

"No, but…" the wildcat began.

"Then what are we worried about?" Sly interrupted. "Your job's done, and not by you. And best of all, Gerry's none the wiser! You're home free, er, in a manner of speaking! You can take the rest of the day off, knowing full well you don't deserve it. And that, my friend, is the greatest feeling of all. And I want you to experience it. But first things first…I need the money."

The wildcat frowned, seeming to still be thinking it over somehow. But, alas, he procured the coins and placed them into Sly's grasping paws.

"Don't feel right," the wildcat said. "Don't know what you're doing, but it can only bite us in the tail. I'm doin' my own from now on."

"I must say, that disappoints me. But alas, this last week was all I needed anyways, so…no loss on my end. Good day to you, Giggles!" Sly pocketed the coins and skipped out of the kitchens and into the halls. After several minutes of walking, the vole found a small rat cowering by the wall, scratching at his arm absentmindedly.

"Itch!" Sly cried, making the rat jump. "I bring good fortune!"

"Shh!" the rat whisper-shrieked. "We can't be seen speaking!"

Sly froze, holding his paws out to his sides. "You're right. Don't want to ruin the plan. I won't be long, then. I brought you what you asked. For, you know, helping me out this week." Sly winked, and reached into his pocket jangling with coins, and produced a wooden spoon. Itch's eyes lit up, and snatched it out of the vole's paw in a panic.

"I can't believe you! Waving it around like that!" the rat shrieked, no whispers this time. "There are eyes everywhere! Do you want to ruin this escape before it even begins?!"

"No, not at all, so sorry," Sly answered. "How soon will you be out of this prison, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It will be hard, but in mere weeks I suspect," Itch answered, staying true to his name and scratching his neck with his new spoon. "Don't worry, Sly. I'll let you know when I'm there."

"I'll be waiting with bated breath," the vole answered, and turned to leave. As he left the rat's sight, he called back to Itch. "Oh, and if that breaks against the stone you'll be digging through, you know where to find me."

 _And now, the fun part. Betting on my future._

He was in such a rush, the vole ignored his usual careful path through the tunnels and instead travelled straight towards The Drag to meet with the Crater's own personal bookie, a mangy weasel named Copper. Lowly beasts, slaves, and dashing voles like Sly were only allowed to gamble through this beast. A frustrating fact that Sly was not aware of until recently. He approached the somewhat dilapidated booth tucked away in an even more unpleasant corner. Copper was picking at his teeth, counting a handful of bronze. Sly took a deep breath, and plastered on his most winning smile.

"Ahoy, Coppo! Perfect day to make a fortune, eh?"

Copper glanced up from his monotonous task, and plastered on his own twisted grin. "Aye, every day's a good day to make a bit o' coin. How much we talkin' here?"

"I've got quite a big purse, if I may boast. Several dozen coppers in fact."

Copper snorted. "A small fortune to be made fer sure. What beasts is goin' to be yer hero today?"

"I'm betting it all on my close friend and personal hero Kentigern MacRaff," Sly answered, tossing the purse onto the table. Copper's grin somehow grew even more twisted.

"Aye, MacRaff the Wrathful an' Hracken the Kracken. Two total nobeasts. Solid choice."

Sly could feel himself deflating. "Not exactly. Mac's a Highlander, after all, not a nobeast! His clan goes back, way back, back to when fighting was new! And this Crackin' fellow…he…who's he?"

"You don' have to build up yer prospects fer me, I ain't the one bettin'. I win whether you do or not," Copper said, his smile much more genuine by this point. "Now you wanna still put it all on these two? Or how's about bettin' on two real winners, Ripfang the Wild and Raggabrash the Beheader?"

Sly almost sold out right then and there, but a certain toothy smile came to mind. The vole remembered why he was really here. "So, what you're telling me is, I'll win much more if my hare-y friend Mac comes out on top tonight?"

"Aye. That's how gamblin' works."

"Then put it all on Mac! And this Crackin' beast I now have equal faith in!" Sly cried, and slammed his fist on the table. Copper nodded.

"Good. Co-pay is a dozen copper."

"Co-what now?"

* * *

 _Damn weasel. Taking my money before I even lose. What a scam. Wish I'd thought of it.  
_  
Sly had handed over all his hard earned coin to the slimy weasel, all except for enough to buy the drink he would desperately need after this whole affair. The vole was pacing around the hallways around the Crater, mentally preparing himself to watch his own horrible, agonizing failure. MacRaff's fight was only a few matches away, so it was high time the vole made his way to the stands. Beasts were milling about and shouting to one another, coin and drink being exchanged between paws as beasts much better off were having themselves a time. Sly felt sick. And the bloodcurdling screams of beasts dying just out of sight was not very helpful either.  
The vole was nearing the entrance to the servant's stands, when a bit of conversation found its way to Sly's ear.

"…Raggabrash really lives up to his title. Not one of his matches ends without a beheading."

The vole's ears perked up at the name, and he frantically glanced around to see who was speaking. He soon spotted a hedgehog slave, who was speaking to a fellow stoat slave as they scrubbed the floor. Sly started to practically run towards them and interject into the conversation, when he remembered the iron collar around his neck. Quickly, he undid his headband and wrapped it around his neck, doing his best to hide the collar. Once he felt presentable, he rushed towards the two.

"Hullo, lowly slave beasts!" he said, smiling. "I couldn't help but overhear you mention the Beheader? My scribes have been in my ear for weeks telling me I should be very interested in him, would you agree?"

The hedgehog fell silent, and scrubbed the floor much harder. The stoat merely grumbled. Sly's heart raced. With a great, inward sigh, the vole reached into his pocket and grabbed his last two pieces of copper, and presented them to the slaves. Their eyes lit up as Sly's heart sank.

"Aye," said the hedgehog. "Raggabrash be a crazy beast. I knew a rat who used to be cellmates with him."

"Oh? Cellmates with the famous Beheader?"

"He weren't famous then, but he wanted to be," the hedgehog continued. "Finally he got the chance, an' did so well he earned his freedom right then an' there. 'Cept he didn't leave, jus' stayed to fight some more. He an' his brother that is."

"His brother? Who's that?" Sly asked.

"Ripfang, roight? Oi think they asked to be a team," the stoat chimed in.

"Aye, them two are brothers. Crazy must run in the family," the hedgehog continued. "They don' fight for any reason other than the glory. Playin' with their victims for the crowd an' all that."

"Yarr, an' Ripfang ain't too good at fightin' neither," the stoat added. "I hear he jus' there fer the fun. Raggabrash is the real muscle o' the two from what you been tellin' me."

"Now that's just…titillating information," Sly exclaimed, and tossed each of them a copper. "I truly wish I could give you more. But alas, time is money, and my time is short. I must be off, but worry not! I shall remember you."

Sly calmly left the two to their soul-crushing work and, as soon as he knew they weren't paying him any more attention, dashed off as fast as he could to the gladiator quarters to find MacRaff. The little vole weaved between the crowd of beasts, bumping into a few and dashing between the legs of others. He had no idea how long he had before he'd miss MacRaff. Sly was about to compliment himself on his sudden newfound agility, when a massive wall of fur suddenly appeared before him. He crashed right into it, sending him sprawling on the floor. The hulking mass turned and, to Sly's utter despair, the vole realized it belonged to none other than Blasio. The beast looked angry, until his eyes found who crashed into him. He smiled. His big, toothy smile.

"Well, well, well. Fancy you running into me here," the beaver chuckled. "Where are you off to? The pub is that way, I believe."

Sly shot back a grin of his own, and jumped straight back up to attempt to look the beast in the eyes. "Oh I'm keenly aware of the pub's location, don't you worry. But no, Buck my friend, I don't have time for pleasure today, for I am on business."

"Ah, I remember the days when business and pleasure were mutually exclusive," Blasio said. "Thank you, my tiny friend, for the nostalgia."

"It's what I'm here for," Sly replied. "But since you asked, now I'm curious to know where are you going? The mess hall is nowhere nearby. Have you been invited to eat the losing beasts?"

The beaver laughed, and slapped his belly. "No, no, no. Since you ask, I am on my way to the Podium. Oh, I suspect you have no idea what that is. You see, it's where the wealthiest patrons sit…"

"Oh I know of the podium, Buck. I'm there all the time. I'm just too small for you to notice me."

"Ah yes, you certainly are," Blasio grinned. "But fear not. If you play your cards right, I'm sure you'll be allowed to scrub its floors again. Good luck, Mr. Speaky." The massive beast brushed passed Sly, knocking him to the floor once more.

Bitterly, the vole struggled back to his feet and brushed himself off.

 _One of these days, Buck. I'll wipe that dumb smile right off your face._

Without a second to lose, he rushed to make his fortune.


	21. Don't Lose Your Head

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Don't Lose Your Head**

 _By: Kentigern_

* * *

Loft Kris slid into its sheath with a dull rasp. Kentigern heaved the scabbard, edges tarnished from centuries of use, onto his back, where it hung from a leather strap. The training dummy before him sported countless knicks and notches from an hour of relentless training. He ran a paw through his headfur, throat parched and lungs gasping for air. He stepped back and surveyed the arena.

The sandy floor was full of gladiators training for the large event. Dull thuds and grunts of exertion filled the air. A peg-legged weasel in blue stumping across the arena caught his eye. It was the same one that he had seen pushing along the otterpup. His gaze followed the weasel as it approached an otterwife who was standing in the far shadows of the training arena. He had seen that otter before. Rather than practice, she stood in the corner and scrutinized the other fighters.

Whatever the weasel was saying, it didn't elicit a friendly response. The otterwife's ears flattened and she snarled at the weasel. The image sent a jolt through Kentigern. Of course! The young otterpup was the spitting image of the otterwife in the corner.

The weasel left the otterwife with a huff, and Kentigern cautiously approached her. "Not one fer practicin', then?"

"I am practicin'," she said, surveying the gladiators. She turned to him with a suspicious glare. "Who're ye?"

"Kentigern MacRaff, o' the MacRaff clan." He offered her a smile.

"Ye ain't wearin' a collar," she observed. "But ye ain't wearin' blue either."

Kentigern shook his head. "Nae. Ah'm a volunteer."

She gave him a look of pure venom. "What sort o' scum— a woodlander no less— volunteers fer somethin' so sick?"

The hare shifted uncomfortably under her glare. He decided that this was a good time to change the subject. "Ah ken where yer daughter is, marm."

The otterwife froze. "Ye what?"

"Well," Kentigern amended, "ah dinnae ken exactly where. But ah ken how ye kin find oot." He paused. "Do ye have a name?"

"Minerva," she grunted. "How can I find my daughter?" .

Kentigern nodded. "Ah wish ah could say it was a pleasure tae meet ya." He nodded in the direction that the weasel had stormed off in. "Just ask the peg-legged vermin. Ah saw him drag yer bairn off a few days ago."

"When ye say dragged…" her questioned trailed off, but her eyes hardened.

"Ah cannae tell ye where or why," Kentigern sighed.

Minerva looked at him despairingly for a brief moment, before her eyes narrowed. "How do ye know it's my daughter?"

Kentigern shrugged. "Wee lass, green dress, five seasons or so? Spittin' image o' ye."

The otter stared forward, glassy eyed. "Fable…" she murmured. She turned back to the hare. "Why are ye tellin' me this?"

Kentigern hesitated. "Ah have a lass as well. Ah couldnae imagine—"

Minerva glanced at him sharply. "Ye have a daughter? And ye just abandoned her? What about a wife?"

"Aye, said the hare. "Ah have a wife tae. But ah didnae abandon them. Ah'm here lookin' fer a wee otter lad. The brother o' a friend. He's a slave here."

"That mayn't be the best thing fer ye to be throwin' around." The otterwife gave him a long look. "An' it's worth riskin' yer life fer?"

"Ah owe mah friend," said Kentigern.

"Ye owe yer family," she replied.

"Ah came here tae save a bairn," protested the hare.

"What about yours?"

"Ah ken'd she was safe when ah came tae Northvale tae meet mah friend," said Kentigern. "When he tahld me aboot Lloyd—"

"Ye left wi'out knowin' why ye were comin'?" Minerva snapped, and smacked him over the head. Kentigern flinched, less from the slap so much as the realization that he had, in fact, left without knowing why Dunwillie needed his help. _Ah could die an' they'll ne'er ken why._

"MacRaff!" A new voice cut into the conversation. A bustling vole approached the pair. "Nire sent me to bring you to the fight!" Sly Speakeasy now stood before them with a wide grin. He grabbed Kentigern's paw and began dragging him out of the arena.

As the vole pulled Kentigern away from the otterwife, she gave him one last look. "Been a while since ye trained fer a fight?"

Kentigern nodded. "A wee bit, aye."

"Ah," said Minerva. "Then I'll fergive ye fer not knowin' yer right paw's a tad too narrow. Ye want to widen it out. Ye won' get knocked o'er so easily."

"Fergive me, but ah ken how tae—" Kentigern began.

Minerva interrupted him. "I'm just makin' sure a young lass' father comes home."

"That," interjected Sly, "is an excellent point, marm. However, we really must be going. Good ole MacRaff here and I have some things to discuss before the action. Come along, my friend." The vole reached up and threw his paw around the hare's shoulder, guiding him out of the training arena.

As they exited, Kentigern turned to Sly. "Ah appreciate yer time, lad, but ye kin tell Nire ah dinnae need a chaperone."

"What?" Sly gave him a brief glance of confusion, before letting out a short laugh. He leaned closer and winked up conspiratorially at the hare. "Oh, Goodbeast Nire didn't actually send me," he whispered. "No…you see, I think we have something of mutual interest to discuss."

Kentigern blinked.

"Now, you have this big fight coming up, yes?" Sly continued. "Now, I have a little bit of stake in the outcome, if you catch my drift." Again, the vole winked. "As such, I figured I could help me get a little bit of coin in my pocket, and you fill that unquenchable thirst for vermin blood you seem to have."

The highlander's ears perked up. "Aye?"

"Aye, laddie!" Sly said jovially. "Now listen, cuz this is the important part. You're set to face a pair of weasels— brothers, by the names of Raggabrash the Beheader and Ripfang the Wild. Now, they ain't ever been beat in the ring and they've got some heavy odds in their favor."

"An' how's that supposed tae help me?" Kentigern asked.

"Well, the thing is, Ripfang's not actually a great fighter," Sly replied. "Decent sure, but nothing your searat friend can't handle. It's Raggabrash who's the real threat. He's big, he's strong, and he didn't come by that nickname by chance— he's beheaded no less than fifteen beasts."

"So what yer sayin' is," said the hare, "Let the rat distract the small 'un while ah take the big lad."

Sly chuckled as they approached a small, nondescript door where a stoat lounged nonchalantly. "Oho, not so slow off the drink, eh? And look at that. We're here. Mister MacRaff, best of luck. Go out there and make us some money." The vole gave him a cheery wave and sauntered down the hallway.

The hare shook his head and approached the door. The stoat paid him little mind as he walked inside. The room was small, and a rack of weapons stood along the the left wall. Forward lay another gate, presumably the entrance to the arena. Kentigern looked to his right. Thrayjen was already there, tentatively testing the trident and net. The rat gave a few practice thrusts, and turned to say something to a ferret with striking blue eyes who was leaning against the wall.

The ferret noticed Kentigern and nodded in his direction. Thrayjen turned around. He made as if to approach the hare, but Kentigern fixed him with a piercing glare. The highlander allowed himself a small inward grin of satisfaction when Thrayjen stood helplessly for a moment, before deciding against coming up to him. Kentigern turned his back to the pair of vermin and slid his claymore out of his sheath.

By the rack of weapons sat a large whetstone. Kentigern eased Loft Kris along the rock, smoothing out the nicks in the edges. _Ah'm sorry_ , he apologized to the blade. _Ah dinnae like the idea o' fightin' wi' a vermin any more'n ye dae_. He paused, and looked down at the blade. Despite the ancient sword's centuries of use, the blade still gleamed. Kentigern locked eyes with his reflection. _Just a couple o' fights. Then we kin save Lloyd. And get home tae mah family._

"Oi!" A sharp bark cut through his musing. The ferret was waving him over. "It's time." As she said this, the doors were thrown open and a group of beasts burst inside. A dull roar emanated from outside the door. They carried the body of a hedgehog, collar around his neck. His face was beaten and bloodied beyond recognition, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth lifelessly. "Out with ye, out with ye." The ferret ushered Kentigern and Thrayjen out of a door on the far side of the room.

They stepped out onto the sandy floor of the arena to the sound of ecstatic screaming. Across the ring, two weasels were prancing around, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd. For each movement the weasels made, the crowd responded with a roar.

"Ooon the northern side of the ring," a voice echoed loudly through the stadium, "we have the dynamic duo, the terrible twosome, the perilous pair! You know them! You love them! It's Raggabrash the Beheader, and Ripfang the Wiiiiild!" The weasels' chests puffed up, and they turned to the rat and hare who stood across from them. "Aaaaand on the southern side, we have the newcomers. We've got the wily searat and the highlander from Hellgates— please welcome Hracken the Kracken, And MacRaff the Wrathful! Let the fight…begin!" The crowd responded deliriously.

Kentigern turned to Thrayjen. "Listen. Ripfang cannae fight like the other. Ye keep him distracted an' ah'll take care o' the real fight."

"Which one is Ripfang?" asked the rat nervously. He looked wholly unappetized at the thought of having to fight. Kentigern shook his head. _He'll likely need a wee bit o' help tae survive._

"The small'un." Kentigern pointed the weasel on the left. Ripfang was wielding two scimitars, and teasingly twirled them around in his paws. "Gae now." Kentigern turned and focused his attention in the larger weasel.

Raggabrash was indeed more intimidating than his brother. The hulking weasel fixed Kentigern with a baleful glare and rolled his neck, sending ominous cracking emanating through the arena. He lifted a large broadsword up and effortlessly pointed it at the hare. "C'mon. We ain't got all day," he taunted.

Kentigern gave him breezy smile. "Ach, laddie. Ah had tae take a moment there, ah apologize. Yer ugliness caught me off guard. Dae ye use it tae kill yer opponents usually?"

The weasel snarled and advanced toward the hare. "Youse thinks yer funny, huh?"

"Nae, laddie," responded Kentigern, eyes wide with innocence. "Ah'm just givin' ye respect fer yer natural weapons. Deadly, yer face."

With a growl, Raggabrash swung his broadsword at the hare. Kentigern raised Loft Kris to parry. The two swords met with a clang, and the force of the blow sent vibrations curling down the claymore and into Kentigern's paws. _The laddie does have a wee bit o' power, thought the hare. Ah'll haftae be careful._

Raggabrash swung again. Kentigern raised his sword to parry. When the blades connected, the hare used the momentum from the collision to spin around on his heel, guiding the blade in a circle to strike at the weasel's legs. Raggabrash swiped downward, turning the blow aside.

Kentigern stumbled, but quickly recovered his balance and stepped back. Gripping the handle of his claymore in one paw, and resting the other above the crossguard, he thrust his blade forward. Raggabrash again swiped down to stop the strike. He stepped back and hefted his sword aloft with both paws. He swung forward, and the force of the blow sent Kentigern stumbling back. He raised the broadsword again, and Kentigern was again forced backward.

The weasel began raining strikes down on the hare, and with each one he pushed Kentigern further back across the ring. Kentigern knew that if the other weasel joined in the fight against him, he would be finished in a moment. A quick glance to the other side of the arena saw Thrayjen hurl his net at Ripfang in a desparate attempt to ensnare the weasel, but the weasel easily sidestepped the throw and the net now laid in the dirt. Still distracted, then. Good.

Kentigern swore as yet another powerful blow sent him staggering. He attempted a quick jab, but Raggabrash was already swinging his sword straight at the highlander's neck. Kentigern ducked, and lashed out with a footpaw. The kick knocked the weasel back, but he barely seemed phased, lifting his sword for another stroke. Kentigern prepared himself to parry the blow.

Right footpaw! As he shifted his stance, he recalled the advice Minerva had given him. He widened the placement of his right footpaw and raised Loft Kris. This time, when the two swords met, he held his ground. Raggabrash looked at him in surprise, but had little time to ponder what had just happened. Kentigern swung at his head, and he was forced to raise his sword.

Suddenly, the weasel was on the defensive, as Kentigern delivered a flurry of slashing blows. The hare swung at Raggabrash's right, and the weasel parried accordingly. Spinning again, Kentigern then swung at his left. Still reeling from the first blow, Raggabrash barely got his sword to meet the hare's. His blade was knocked down by the strike. Kentigern used his foot paw to give a powerful kick that sent the weasel rolling into the dirt. The crowd gave a rousing cheer.

Eyes alight, Kentigern lofted his claymore above his head. "Haway the Braw!" he roared, and swung Loft Kris down towards the fallen weasel with all of his might. Raggabrash desperately threw up his broadsword to stave off the killing stroke. The steel met with a thunderous clatter. The sheer power of the blow sent Raggabrash's sword spinning out of his hand. Raggabrash tumbled into the dirt. Kentigern advanced upon the weasel.

Swearing, the fallen gladiator leapt to his feet. He whipped a knife out of his belt and lunged forward. The hare sidestepped the thrust and punched Raggabrash in the gut. Grabbing the weasel by the shoulders, Kentigern hurled him into the dirt. Raggabrash sprawled moaning in the dirt near Thrayjen's abandoned net.

Kentigern looked back to find the rat. Thrayjen was on the defensive, struggling to parry Ripfang's wild strikes with his trident. The weasel was whooping in delight as he rained blow after blow down on the rat. _Dinnae worry— ah'll halp ye in a moment_ , Kentigern promised inwardly. _Just allow me tae halp yer brother tae Hellgates first._ He raised Loft Kris again and turned to deliver the final swing. As his footpaw swung forward, though, it connected with a tangled mess of rope. Thrayjen's net grabbed Kentigern and wrestled him to the ground. Raggabrash, curled up and waiting for the death blow, looked up warily when it never came. When his eyes landed on the entangled hare as he fought, swearing, with the net, Raggabrash laughed and heaved himself up.

"Oho, youse thought dis was over, diddin' youse?" Raggabrash sneered, approaching the struggling hare. Tearing the net off of his opponent and throwing it away, he swung his fist downward into Kentigern's face. "Youse dunno—" Again, his fist collided with Kentigern's jaw. "Wut over—" Again, his fist crashed into bone. "Even means, mucker." Again, his fist pulled away from bloodied fur. He pulled Kentigern up to look him dead in the eye and gave him a gap-toothed grin. "Oh, I'ma have a liddle fun wi' youse afore I get ta choppin' off yore head."

Raggabrash tossed the hare into the dust and turned to the wildly cheering crowd. He punched the air with a roar, and the crowd responded with unrestrained adulation. Chants of "Raggabrash! Raggabrash!" and "The Beheader!" broke out across the stadium. Raising his arms triumphantly, he turned back to Kentigern, who lay groaning on the sandy floor.

"Alrigh'. Let's teach youse a liddle somefing 'bout pain, aye?" he said, and swung his fist downward.


	22. Chest Out

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Chest Out**

 _By: Thrayjen_

* * *

Sand, kicked up from frantically roving footpaws, clouded around Thrayjen's head and gagged him. Salty tears stung his eyes as he desperately tried to rub the grit from them with his wrist. Thrayjen's blurred vision gave Ripfang the Wild an easy target. Ripfang rushed forward, tackling Thrayjen down into the ground and pummeling him with the butt end of his sickles. The trident went flying from Thrayjen's paw, skittering across the ground to rest several paw lengths away beside his lost net. Cheers from the stands rose with excitement.

Thrayjen gasped as the weasel's knee dug into his chest and ground into his sternum. He shoved against the weasel's hips, kicking wildly until he managed to crack his tail against Ripfang's face and knock him loose. Thrayjen rolled over onto his belly and struggled to kneel, heaving a breath while Ripfang leapt to his feet.

The weasel laughed and pointed a blade at Thrayjen while raising his other paw to the crowd. The eager audience cheered Ripfang's performance while Raggabrash continued to slam his fist into a fallen Kentigern's body. Ripfang turned to his brother and cheered as well.

Thrayjen growled, setting his jaw. With Ripfang's attention elsewhere, Thrayjen broke into a sudden sprint, all four paws ripping up dirt as he ran to his lost weapons.

Startled, Ripfang turned but immediately flinched. The recovered net billowed out behind the rat. Hooks sang as they cut through the air. Ripfang raised his sickles to blindly defend himself but the rat attacked low.

Thrayjen plunged the trident's prongs into Ripfang's left footpaw and vaulted up, using the handle to raise himself above and over Ripfang. The weasel screamed, desperately trying to wrench his paw from the piercing pain. The trident pulled free as Thrayjen landed. Ripfang stumbled, distracted from his opponent. Thrayjen smashed the length of handle into Ripfang's nose and the weasel fell back, clutching at his face.

The sound of his brother's agonized screaming drew Raggabrash's attention away from Kentigern. He bellowed angrily and loped to his brother's rescue. Thrayjen passed the net to his paw and flung it outwards while he twisted around to meet the larger weasel. When the net stretched to its full length, Thrayjen jerked it back. Raggabrash stepped away but only just enough and so Thrayjen spun, lashing out with both his net and the trident. Raggabrash began to circle him, trying to find a way past the hooks and prongs.

Two scarred faces creased into deep furrows as rat and weasel snarled at each other. Raggabrash lurched forward but Kentigern suddenly launched himself at the weasel. A hard punch spun Raggabrash's head around, his eyes unfocused from the force of the hit. The weasel collapsed, hitting the ground hard.

The crowd chanted something Thrayjen couldn't decipher while Kentigern screamed at him. The energy was intoxicating; Thrayjen barely thought as he tossed his net over the large weasel. He watched the surreal scene, stepping back a few paces as Kentigern's knuckles began to seek vengeance on Raggabrash's skull.

Screeching from elsewhere on the field brought Thrayjen's eyes to rest on Ripfang, still writhing on the ground while the mask of blood and mud on his face became thicker. The crowd chanted harder as Thrayjen stepped towards the weasel.

That pathetic mess had wanted to hurt him, and he had _delighted_ in it.

The rat's eyes narrowed and anger rose in his chest.

"How _dare_ you," Thrayjen spat, bearing his teeth. A frustrated warmth flooded his limbs and Thrayjen marched to Ripfang, eyes boring into the frightened weasel's captured stare. Ripfang's screeching was cut short with a phlegm-filled gurgle. Thrayjen kicked the weasel's chin, sending him sprawling. The rat loomed above Ripfang, staring down at him while pressing the trident's prongs deeper and deeper into the soil around the weasel's lithe neck. Pinned and crippled, Ripfang whimpered to his brother for help, but Kentigern's bloodied knuckles had seen Raggabrash the Beheader into unconsciousness.

Ripfang's crying froze the heat in Thrayjen's chest. He blinked down at himself before looking around the stadium. All four of the fighters were bloody from their battle. The brothers were battered and wrecked in defeat. The herald was perched upon their platform, hollering over the din MacRaff the Wrathful and Hracken the Kraken had beaten the weasel brother favourites in a fantastic upset. Thrayjen licked his lips and immediately choked on the coppery flavour. Beasts in the stands were on their feet, applauding and cheering while coins were exchanged and tickets shredded in disappointment.

 _I've crippled the poor bastard._

Thrayjen's heart pounded as he fought for breath, his body shaking with the force of each beat. Composure eluded him and Thrayjen barely managed to rip the trident from the ground, freeing Ripfang and leaning against the weapon for support while the weasel rolled over.

"You'll live," Thrayjen told Ripfang, insistently repeating himself. He began to kneel down and place a paw on Ripfang's shoulder. "You'll live. You'll both live..."

The weasel merely glared as Thrayjen stared blankly at him.

Thrayjen's life was still his but he had caused so much pain. He closed his eyes, pushing the imagined faces of Nan and his sweet hogbabes out of his mind.  
"You'll live," Thrayjen told Ripfang one last time, then stood and turned away.

Kentigern's face was barely a whisker's width away from his nose. The crowd continued their applause as he grabbed Thrayjen by his jerkin and began to roar.

"What are ye tryin' tae play at? Ah was hearin' bells and you're dancin' around like a useless bairn! Why did ye pretend ye couldnae fight? Did ye _want_ me tae _die_? Ye shouldnae have told me ye couldnae fight! Why did ye nae help me sooner?!"

The hare paused upon seeing Thrayjen's alarmed face and he released his grip. Turning away, Kentigern crossed his arms and determinedly watched the audience as he looked anywhere but at the rat.

"I'm sorry," Thrayjen said, looking up to the sky and releasing a shaky sigh. "I didn't want to fight."

"Ferget it, rat. Ah ken'd ah couldna trust ye tae have mah back." The hare snorted, still searching the crowd.

From the door they had entered the arena, a squirrel carrying an armful of gauze leapt out and hastily skipped past the victors to tend to the beaten weasels. Kentigern and Thrayjen stepped inside the tunnel, Thrayjen's eyes trained to his footpaws as he dragged his trident and net behind him.

"Champion, aye! Absolute champion! I knew you could fight!" Blue greeted them, pulling Thrayjen by his notched ear. Thrayjen barely flinched, the minor pain nothing compared to his other ailments. As they made their way back to the armoury, the ferret poked at his wounds, made him open his mouth to inspect his teeth, and then began to poke at his limbs for soft areas of bone. Hargorn took Thrayjen's weapons away at the door while Kentigern, smirking at the rat's plight, limped towards an adjacent room where clean towels and a comfortable seat promised him relief. Thrayjen enviously watched the hare open the door and disappear into a cloud of steam.

"You'll be fine after you get cleaned up," Blue said while nodding to herself in satisfaction. "You've got a loose tooth, but we'll pluck that and stuff a wood one in. Nire will like that, aye. Good and piratey, aye! Master Hargorn, if you please?"

Thrayjen's protest was cut off when Hargorn seized the opportunity to grab Thrayjen's head on either side and wrench his jaws open. Blue produced a thin dirk from her belt and stuffed her paw into the rat's mouth where she began digging. The rat gurgled painfully while Hargorn held his jaws wide in between two massive paws. Blue pried and picked at the offending tooth, finally digging it out from the gums as Thrayjen barked in pain and reeled back as Hargorn let him loose.

"It split in half! You're lucky I care about my winnin' fighters; you'd be worse off tomorrow without me," Blue said, examining the tooth in her paw as she put her dirk away.

"Thank-you, Miss Blue," Thrayjen groaned, holding his jaw and blinking tears from his eyes. Blue snorted, pocketing the tooth.

The armoury doors opened and every beast flung themselves to attention as Nire entered the room, Kentigern at his side. Nire opened his arms as he approached Blue and shook her paw. The ferret beamed.

"Miss Blue, my dear, you did it, and on such short notice! You do your father proud! Tell him I said that, won't you? You do us all very proud." Nire turned to Kentigern and laid a congratulatory paw on his shoulder. "Didn't I say you'll be a crowd favourite? Trust a highlander to fight his guts out even if it's just for show! Good man, good man!"

"Tae be honest, an ale would be mighty appreciated after all the work ah did today,' Kentigern said, glaring pointedly at Thrayjen.

As Nire stepped away, Thrayjen noticed how Kentigern subtly twisted from the lynx's paw, his face dropping ever so slightly into a scowl.

"Ohoho! No need to say good night!" Nire exclaimed, once again patting Kentigern's shoulder. "I wouldn't deny you two a round together!" The lynx's eyes narrowed as he smiled at Kentigern. "You _both_ fought _very_ well! As a matter of fact, I was more than impressed with your interesting acrobatics, Hracken."

"Thank-you, Master Nire," Thrayjen replied quietly, deciding to not correct the cat's moniker for him. If Nire liked Hracken, then on the cat's good side Hracken would stand. He watched closely as Nire turned from him and addressed the slave keepers.

"Hracken shall accompany Master MacRaff to the tavern this evening. A guard shall escort him back after he's had his prize," Nire added, looking pointedly to Thrayjen. The rat nodded his understanding. Blue pushed him away towards a trough of water. As Thrayjen brought pawfuls of water over his face, he listened intently to the free beasts across the room.

"Now, more importantly, Master MacRaff!" Nire turned his head, almost touching noses with Kentigern as the lynx's arm was still around him. The cat produced a pouch from an inner pocket on his vest, and happily offered it to the hare. Kentigern outstretched his paw and let the jingling bag drop into his palm.

Kentigern offered a grunt of acknowledgement. Nire smiled, every single tooth showing.

"I look forward to great things from you," Nire said, and slid away from Kentigern.

"Good evening, Nire." The hare bowed politely and, with very controlled movements, turned away. As Kentigern began to head back out of the room, he paused briefly and glared through the purple bruises starting to form around his swollen eyes.

"Let's get movin'," Kentigern ordered Thrayjen. "Ah willnae be kept from wettin' mah gullet any longer."

Thrayjen sighed and followed after the bounding hare, lagging behind in the winding Drag as he held his swelling face.

The tavern was less a pub and more of a lounge, Thrayjen noted. Its colourful limestone walls were richly decorated with the banners of The Crater as well as sigils of past and present champions. A plaque engraved with a scene of two fighting beasts was hung above the bar alongside numerous weapons that were all tagged with different signatures of the beasts who had once wielded them. Beautiful wooden frames housed exciting paintings of historical matches, and sketches depicting horrendous monsters were drawn onto coasters. Creatures with a dozen legs and no eyes or giant scorpions with lashing tails seemed to be the preferred subject of the local artist.

Only a few beasts occupied the tavern, but they all rose from their seats and applauded the pair. Kentigern sat himself down at the bar, Thrayjen shyly following after. Greasy, delicious smells wafted from the far end of the bar where a door led to a kitchen. As he sat, Thrayjen looked at where the liquor shelf would normally sit only to see a glass window that overlooked the fighting pit. The bar tender gave him a wink upon seeing the rat's impressed expression.

"Better than any picture, aye?"

"Aye," Thrayjen echoed absently before looking up. The bartender, a tall ferret, had eyes as blue as his apron. The ferret winked again.

"You're trainer is my sister," the ferret explained. "Name's Plockette."

"October ale," Kentigern ordered, eyeing the ferret disdainfully.

"I, uh…May I have a mead, please?" Thrayjen asked.

"Right away!" The ferret reached beneath the bar for a glass, simultaneously turning to a barrel with a spigot. Within seconds, the ferret produced two full mugs on the polished bar top. Kentigern grabbed his and began to down it without a word.

"Thank-you," Thrayjen said, lifting his mug to his lips and inhaling the scent before drinking deeply. Plockette chatted idly to him as he polished glasses. Thrayjen smiled throughout the banter, finally letting a sense of ease return. His lax in vigilance cost him both a sense of peace and his ale.

"Ye…ye are a limey bastard!" Kentigern spat, slamming his drink upon the bar. "Ye _ken_ how tae fight!" The hare shoved Thrayjen with a paw. "An' ye left _me_ tae take care o' _everything myself_! Ah expected as much from a vermin."

"That's what you told me to do," Thrayjen pointed out. The hare's ears twitched indignantly. Plockette warned the two to settle down, that their match was over, but the ferret stepped back when Kentigern ignored him.

"Ah gave ye the smaller weasel, and ye _still_ took yer sweet time! Ye coulda tied him up wi' yer net, ye coulda stabbed him in the neck! Ye coulda killed them both earlier, be ye _let_ me get hurt! Why did ye nae fight from the beginning?! Ye coulda killed-"

"You told me," Thrayjen began sharply, eyes narrowing, "To stay out of your way and let you handle everything. You _ordered_ me to stay away, least you _cut me down in battle_." Thrayjen's grip tightened around his mug. A thin crack begin to appear where one of his claws curled inward. "You act like you're my master, yet without me I am _certain_ you'd be drinking with your ancestors. _You're welcome_ for the help," the rat spat, slamming his mug upon the bar top and rising off his seat to meet Kentigern's glaring eyes. "You know I can fight, now. So does Nire. He'll never let me go, not for anything. If I had kept my head down, stayed quiet, remained _forgettable_ , I could have one day slipped into a collar with a different symbol. Now I can't. That's on you." Heat welled in Thrayjen's chest and his split lips curled back to bear his fangs. " _Master_ MacRaff."

The hares eyes widened and his ears went stiff with indignation. He swung his arm back, paw clenched into a heavy fist.

"Mac, you devil, you! I thought I heard the barely comprehensible garble of your illustrious and most endearing of accents! Music to my ears! Sing to me of your victory, laddie bucko!"

A vole with a smile as wide as his belly sauntered from the kitchen and pushed a bar stool across the floor. Once he was set immediately between the two fighters, he clambered onto the stool and plopped himself down comfortably. Seeing the mug of October ale within paws reach, the vole downed it in a single gulp and sighed.

"Sly!" Kentigern exclaimed, looking from his pilfered pint to the vole again.

Speakeasy laughed gaily. "The one and only! The one and only beast in this establishment doing dishes!" The vole looked at the ferret behind the bar. Plockette drew a claw across his throat warningly. "Well put," Sly observed. "But, as of your victory, Mac, I was able to collect some honest wages!"

The vole beamed at Kentigern, then looked to Thrayjen. "And you, too, Hackin` the Crackin`! Amazing what you did with that pitchfork. Never seen anything like it!"

"Thrayjen," the rat immediately answered. He released his mug, paw shaking ever so slightly as he extended it towards the vole. "My name is Thrayjen."

"Ah," Sly said, observing the metal around Thrayjen's neck. "One of Nire's beloved pets. Well, good on you for making the best of it and not getting horribly maimed and murdered! Although that face of yours makes me think perhaps the part about not getting maimed has eluded you in the past, but of course a few scars never hurt to up the ante! You two won me a few coins, so the least I can do is buy you a drink in gratitude. Pocket, my brother in apron strings, bring us honest and hardworking gentlebeasts a round!"

As Plockette served up a fresh round, Sly leaned over to Thrayjen and nudged him playfully in the ribs.

"Don't pirates like grog? I didn't take you for a honey bee beast, but I suppose we all have our dirty little secrets. I once knew a toad who couldn't stand the taste of crickets. He'd eat crunchy little black crackers when he was with his friends so they wouldn't notice! He was a nasty, ill-tempered beast but his breath was infinitely better than his companions."

"We'd make mead once in a while," Thrayjen murmured as Sly went on. "I helped Nan grow the flowers. She kept a few hives but we mostly made teas."

"I love tea!" Sly replied. "Especially with some _spirits_ haunting my mug!"

"Growin' flowers," Kentigern scoffed. "What kind o' vermin grows flowers?"

"One who sold tea and honey to feed his family," Thrayjen replied curtly. Kentigern snorted scornfully but kept his mouth tightly shut.

Thrayjen sighed, tightly gripping his cup. He tipped his head back and even Sly gave a whistle of admiration as the rat's beverage disappeared. At this, Kentigern shot Sly a flat scowl.

"Ach, ye think _that's_ ah wee bit impressive? A _jug_ of ale, barkeep!"

Kentigern proved impressive. The hare downed his drink and slammed the pitcher onto the bar, proudly sticking his chest out. Sly applauded, as did Plockette and the other few patrons in the bar.

"What dae ye say ta _that_ , rat?" Kentigern goaded Thrayjen, but the rat only shrugged.

"Did you expect me to keep up?" Thrayjen said lightly. "I'm a slave. I don't have money to compete with you."

Kentigern spluttered, almost dropping the jug. "Fine!" he exclaimed, slamming the pitcher down. "Fine. Ye didnae stab me in the back while ah was fightin' so ah suppose ah'll take example from Sly an' say thanks wi' a drink. Just _one_ , though, rat!" Kentigern added hastily. "Cannae have ye souring the mood while Sly an' I have ah good time."

One drink turned into two more rounds turned into hours spent polishing the bar top with their sleeves. Between stories of old battles, bets gone wrong, and being chased by bees, the three drinking companions kept Plockette busy, and the ferret happily obliged them as Kentigern dropped coin after coin into his paw.

"Flowers, though?" Kentigern yelled, leaning heavily on Sly and almost losing the vole in his thick fur. "Why – hic – why – hic – why do you grow tea and not crops? Proper crops, like food and – hic - and proper crops!"

"I did, though!" Thrayjen exclaimed. His glassy eyes looked from Kentigern to Sly. "I read books on farming. I was growing tubers in the cellar. I had strawberries on the roof!"

"The noble tuber!" Sly shouted, placing a paw over his heart. "Defeater of famine and maker of smiles. Wait, the _roof_?"

"I'd walk all day to get to town, and I'd, I'd sell our teas and the flowers Nan would cut. She was so old, you see…" Thrayjen leaned precariously forward, and Kentigern pushed the rat back with his foot. "She couldn't, couldn't do it any more, walk that far. So I'd go, and sometimes they'd try to, try to follow me, Verna and Helix…but they couldn't walk far, just across the fields to the road…and I'd carry them home again…" Thrayjen trailed off, his eyes beginning to water. "And they'd be tuckered out and asleep by the time we got back. They were so little."

Kentigern exchanged a look with Sly. Wordlessly, Plockette put another drink in front of Thrayjen. The rat stared straight ahead, gazing through the window that looked over the pit.

"Too little to walk that far. Too small to run fast enough." Thrayjen finally looked away, wiping a paw over his eyes. "Not fit for a place like this, just more mouths to feed. I know how it goes. Not the first time I've worn chains."

"I, uh…" Sly shifted uncomfortably. His mouth remained closed for the first time that evening. Even Kentigern looked away, biting his lip. The hare suddenly sprang from his chair, pointing at a beast who had just strolled into the tavern.

"You! Fuzzy pumpkin wench! Kali!" Kentigern hollered.

The creature who had just strolled into the tavern was shaking terribly. She was nervously looking around with unblinking eyes which widened even more as her large ears flattened against her skull upon being addressed. Her sagging leather arms that poked out from her thickly furred, orange body, and the bells on her hat indicated she was some kind of entertainer. The lute she dragged behind her was split up the centre and its strings hung lose.

"Yer ah jester, aye? Hrack – hic – Thrayjen is a terrible teller o' tales!"

The frightened bat leaned away from the drunk hare, scrunching her nose and looking around for some sort of help.

"I, uh, uh, uh, uh, a rat and ferret walk into a bar, uh, I mean, NO, not that one, uh, I mean-"

"Oh, she's terribly funny!" Sly managed to say through raucous laughter. "Does she sing, too? I hope she sings! I love a good sea shanty!" The vole elbowed Thrayjen hard in the side. "Or a good ol' battle hymn for you, my haughty highland hare?"

The bat looked even more anxious than before, but the cheers of the tavern patrons gave her some courage. She stepped onto a table, looking around.

"I, uh, my lute's a little sick…but if you sing along…very, _very_ loudly…then I think we'll all have a great time with the Aaaamazing Kali!" The widely smiling bat suddenly began stomping her feet on the table to keep time as she lightly plucked the only surviving string on her lute.

"Twenty three ales and a bottle of mead," Kali began singing surprisingly soft for her exuberant dancing.

"Hey ho, hi ho, raise the flag high! HEY!" Her chanting became loud and Thrayjen looked up.

"She tied another knot and made the mayor bleed!"

"Hey ho, hi ho, raise the flag high! HEY!" Thrayjen's voice joined the bat, his voice rising to a shout along with Kali's.

"He wouldn't be her first, nor would he be last!"

"Hey ho, hi ho, raise the flag high! HEY!" Kentigern and Sly joined in, oblivious to the flinching and spastic motions Plockette was making every time Kali sang a line.

"She set fire to the town, and hung him from a mast!"

"Hey ho, hi ho, raise the flag high! HEY!"

"A pirate all her life, money her ambition!"

"Hey ho, hi ho, raise the flag high! HEY!"

"I'd rather trust a pirate, but not a politician!"

"Hey ho, hi ho, raise the flag high!"

"They cheered her on, raised her up and made her their queen!"

"Hey ho, hi ho, raise the flag high!"

"Twas the happiest kingdom ever to be seen!"

The string on Kali's lute snapped with a loud twang. For a moment, the bat blinked away tears but she perked up at hearing Thrayjen clap. The rat was slumped over the bar and barely registering Sly hollering for more song and dance. Kali happily obliged him as Kentigern took her wingtips in his paws and began to whirl them about the room while they sang with loud exuberance.

"Ah'll see ye in trainin', Thrayjen! Fer now, Ah've got tae entertain this wee lassie!"

"Nan would not be happy seeing me like this," Thrayjen slurred between hiccups, starring into his empty cup. Sly patted him on the back sympathetically.

"Don't dwell on what's behind you when what's ahead is vastly more important," the vole advised, and pushed _another_ drink towards Thrayjen. Thrayjen looked at Sly, then at the drink, and then threw up on the floor.

"You'll live," Sly said with a wink.


	23. Still Standing

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Still Standing**

 _By: Minerva_

* * *

There was a distinct quiet as two beasts- one a frail wildcat, the other a massive wearet- circled each other in the center of the arena. The sword shook in the wildcat's paws as he struggled to wield its weight and his opponent sneered, breaking the silence.

"Is this little whelp really a gladiator?" The beast twirled his own weapon with one paw before resting it on his broad shoulder. "Or is 'e a slave?"

Shouts of 'slave' rang out from the crowd in the stands above and the wearet grinned. "Aye. Tis wot I think too."

The cat gritted his teeth and charged forward, swinging the heavy sword left and right, up and down, and in every way he possibly could. There was no rhyme or reason to his strikes, and his opponent dodged away from them with ease. The one swing that came close to the wearet, he parried with his shield and sent the cat sprawling backwards to the dusty floor. The massive beast was upon him in an instant, slashing at him over and over with the blunt side of his sword until his opponent wailed and begged for mercy.

The wearet kicked the feeble beast's weapon away and towered over him, turning his sword in his paw to the other, sharpened, side. "That's eight times ya just died, slave, and ya know what they say about cats. Should the ninth be 'is last?" The crowd screamed their approval. Ignoring them, he looked away from his opponent and turned his head upwards towards the Podium where Nire Borean sat watching the show. "What say you, Nire? Do ya think these lovely beasts want t' see this whelp again?"

Nire accepted more wine from a slave and smirked. Taking a sip, he set his goblet to the side before rising to his feet. Slowly he raised his paw as his smile faded into a frown, and curled his thumb downward.

"Aye, I thought not."

The crowd roared as another beast's blood stained the sands of the arena.

From the viewing slits in the Drag, Minerva watched as blue-clad workers quickly appeared from trapdoors in the arena floor and dragged away the dead cat's corpse. Other beasts swept away the bloodied sand and recovered his fallen weapons, and, in only a few moments, the beast was forgotten and the floor was clear for the next combatant.

"Lovely ladies, gentlebeasts, why don't we give a round of applause for the powerful Hammerpaw!" Nire said, his high-pitched voice carrying through the entire arena with the help of a hollowed boar-bone horn.

The beast known as Hammerpaw gave a triumphant bow as the audience cheered and clapped.

Minerva narrowed her gaze at him.

Unlike most of the battles in the Exhibition that came before, the Culling was a much more straightforward affair. There were no rings of fire, no dancers, no spectacle. Only bloodshed.

The rules were simple. One by one, the newer gladiators in the Crater would be selected at random and brought forth- or dragged in one poor mouse's case-from the Drag and to the arena. There, they were allowed any two weapons of their choice before stepping into the ring to face off in a duel against the wearet Hammerpaw.

Nobeast ever won of course. Hammerpaw was an absolutely towering beast with broad shoulders and thick muscles, no doubt built over seasons of dedicated training, and, despite the near full armory of weapons available, he was proficient with nearly all of them. Worst of all the beast never seemed to tire and he danced around or blocked his opponents' swings just as easily now as he had the very first fight. The new slaves hardly stood a chance. How were they supposed to defeat a beast with no weaknesses?

It was after the third or fourth match when the other slaves around Minerva began to reach the same conclusion and, when their names were inevitably called and they were forced into the arena, many dropped to their knees before the wearet begging for their lives. Others tried to flee, but Hammerpaw would always catch them.

One foolish yet brave squirrel tried a different tact. Selecting a bow as one of his weapons, he turned it to where Nire sat in his podium but, before he even had the chance to loose his arrow, guards perched on watchtowers around the arena turned him into a hedgehog with their crossbows. Meanwhile, the lynx watched it all with a smile on his face.

One by one, they were dragged into the ring and, one by one, they were beaten, bruised, humiliated, and slaughtered. And when the match was done, Nire would decide their fate with a simple gesture of his paw. For the cowards, the broken, and the feeble, a thumbs down sealed their fate and told Hammerpaw to put them out of their misery. It was the beasts who bit and snapped, swung their weapons with purpose, showed no fear, and rose when they fell who received the rare thumbs up and limped out of the arena that day. It was the beasts who were still standing through it all who survived another day.

Minerva wondered how she would fare when her own name was called. The otterwife was certainly not weak. Seasons of farmwork made her naturally lean and toned but, like the other slaves around her watching, she knew she was no match for such a hulking creature. And, while she knew she could fight just as well as every other beast who managed to survive, would 'good enough' satisfy Nire, or did he expect more from the Monster of Mossflower Woods?

 _"Most importantly, I want to hear them chant your name."_

For the last week since she was put in the Drag and separated from Fable, the lynx's words hardly seemed to leave Minerva's mind. What _would_ he expect from her? More importantly, what would _the crowd_ expect from her? And if what she gave didn't satisfy, who would suffer, her or her daughter?

Before any more tears could spill from her eyes at the thought, Minerva remembered the snide comment a guard had made to her when she was first let out of the confinement cages. "So this is what everybeast meant when they said the Monster has glowin' red eyes. Hahaaa!"

She scrubbed her paw over her face, knowing there wasn't any reason to cry anymore. Fable wasn't dead yet- the hare Kentigern had told her- and Adeen was doing all she could to search for her within the Crater. Like Nire said, if she wanted to save her daughter, it was time to play her part too, and that meant it was time to fight.

Minerva narrowed her gaze in concentration as Hammerpaw circled his next opponent. What was his weakness? Everybeast had a weakness surely. The otterwife's attentive eyes flitted over every tense of his muscles, every subtle motion in his steps, as she searched for the answer. His sword swing: perfect and controlled. His stance: light and balanced. His attention: always forward, always focused. Except... it wasn't.

As Minerva continued watching she began to recognize a pattern to his fights. First, Hammerpaw would step forward and circle his opponents to size them up. Often, he'd crack jokes or insults at the other beast, or address the crowd directly and ask what they thought of them. When the words finally broke the beast, they would usually charge forward angrily and the wearet would punish them when their inexperienced swings left them off balance or exposed, laughing and chuckling as he did. It was all to please the audience, or course.

It was a sound strategy, but, in the end, Hammerpaw was just as collared as the rest of them were, and it was Nire and the crowd who held the leash. Every move he made, every word that came from his mouth, was for them. He held the sword, but his paws were no longer his, and it was Nire's word alone that made him swing.

Minerva watched as the wearet stood over his defeated foe and grabbed them by the collar. He hoisted them up and then, as he had done in every match before, turned his head away from them and towards Nire.

The otter stroked the fishhook around her neck and smiled for the first time in days. She found his weakness.

"Excuse me. Ma'am?" A calloused paw was placed on her shoulder and she spun around in surprise.

It was a rat, the same one Minerva recognized as having been thrown into the Drag some days before with a nasty head wound. Despite the familiarity, she scowled and slapped away his paw.

"Don't touch me, vermin," she growled.

"I apologize," he whispered cautiously. "Are you Minerva?"

"Aye?" the otterwife answered. "What's it to ye?"

The rat looked both ways before reaching into his ragged vest and producing a scrap of parchment. "I was asked to deliver this to you. It's from a friend."

Distrusting the beast, she snatched the parchment away from him and stared at the words written upon it. Minerva was no learned beast by any means. She held her first spear before she opened her first book, but with the neat, serpentine scrawl, these were no doubt Adeen's words.

Minerva stared at the strange symbols, trying to make sense of them. If it was from Adeen, could she have found Fable? What if the news was more grave? The otterwife grimaced.

"Is something the matter, ma'am?"

The otter scowled at him. "No. Nothin's the bloody matter. Now leave me alone, vermin."

The rat frowned but said nothing, turning to leave. A pit opened in Minerva's gut as he departed. Vermin were impossible to trust - she was taught that at a young age. Yet Adeen trusted him enough to deliver a secret message, a message that still wasn't making any more sense than it had when she first started looking at it. The otterwife scowled.

"Wait!" she called and the rat paused in his tracks. Minerva shifted from side to side as a wave of embarrassment flooded over her. "I- I can't read. I never learned how," she explained to him quietly. Swallowing her pride in front of the vermin, she continued, "Can you? Err... can ye read it t' me? Please?"

The rat raised his brow and studied the otterwife for a moment before he begrudgingly accepted the parchment. "I've gone to tend the Lily, which grows in fertile soil," he read.

When he read the word 'lily', a small smile began to grow on Minerva's face as joyful tears welled in her eyes. Fable was safe somewhere in the Crater. Adeen had found her.

"Thank you," she said. Hastily, she wiped a sleeve across her face. "Thank ye fer bringin' me that message..."

"Silas," the rat provided.

"Silas." Minerva nodded, surprised at how normal it sounded. Most vermin names were always so grisly. "Thank ye, Silas. I needed it."

"Of course. I'm glad it helps. We all need to use whatever tips and tricks we can to survive out there." He glanced up at the arena viewing slit, swallowing hard as another cheer ruptured from the blood-thirsty crowd.

Silas pressed the note back into her paw and turned to leave. Minerva watched the rat, wondering what she could possibly do to repay him for bringing her the news she had been longing for. Gasps from the slaves at the viewing windows reminded her of the Culling. "Silas," she called. The rat turned once more. "Yer name hasn't been called yet, has it?"

"No, not yet." Though he tried to hide it with a smile, the rat's anxiety showed in small, jittery movements.

Despite being a vermin and the rumor that he had been an assassin, Minerva knew that Silas was inexperienced. She had seen him once before in the training grounds, working hard, but still covering basic blocks and parries. He wouldn't stand a chance in the arena, but perhaps she could give him the same hope he had given her. "Fight," she said simply. "I've been watchin' each match and Nire's killed everybeast who's begged or ran, or even trembled. Even if ye're terrified, don't show 'em that. Get up the second ye fall an' just keep swingin'. Ye might not be much of a fighter, Silas, but that doesn't mean you can't show 'em that ye have the potential t' be."

Silas nodded, and the otterwife noticed a faint glimmer in his eye that wasn't there before. "Right. I'll do that. Thank you." He started to leave again, then paused. "What about you? Has your name been called?

Minerva glanced back to the viewing windows and Nire's Podium. The lynx's paw hovered over the basket with the names of everybeast written inside, but, before he made a selection, he scanned through the crowd of slaves huddling by the slits. The cat's eyes met hers and a smile came to his lips.

"No, but I gotta feelin' it's next," Minerva said, caressing her fishhook. Hesitantly, she untied the cord from around her neck.

Nire selected one of the scraps of parchment and flipped it open. Whatever was actually written on it didn't matter, because the lynx immediately tossed it to the side and leaned towards his horn. "Next up is quite the repulsive fiend. The stuff of nightmares. It's The Monster of Mossflower Woods!"

"Good luck," Silas said as the crowd roared.

Minerva only nodded.

* * *

"Right, you only get two weapons. Whichever two you want..." the blue-wearing ferret placed in charge of the armory began in a bored tone. As the vermin drilled on about the rules she already knew, Minerva blocked out his voice from her mind and searched along the walls of weapons until she came across a selection of spears.

A hefty one with a hard, oaken shaft dyed black as midnight caught her eye and she weighed it in her paws before giving it a few experimental jabs. It was medium weight with a wide, rounded head that tapered into a sharp point, similar to a garden spade. It felt familiar in Minerva's paws and she selected it without a second thought. Finally she chose a sling and a small pouch of stones.

"Are you all set?" the armorer asked, giving her a thin leather belt for her sling and pouch.

Minerva finished fastened it loosely around her waist and nodded in reply.

"Good, good." The ferret motioned for her to raise her arms and she hesitantly complied, standing sullenly as the beast patted her down with his paws. Finding nothing, he stepped towards the door and pulled it open. "Take a moment to catch your breath if you need it. Everybeast does."

Minerva followed his advice. She stared at the wicker cage in front of her and the sands below it for a few moments before closing her eyes and sucking in a breath. She released it and then stepped forward.

The door behind her shut and Minerva nearly lost her footing as the cage suddenly lurched forward and began to lower.

"Lovely ladies, gentlebeasts. I give you the dreaded... Monster of Mossflower Woods," Nire's voice rang out across the entire arena as the elevator reached the floor. If the lynx wanted a reaction, he didn't get one. There was no roar or any cheers from the crowd. A deafening and confused silence reigned over the spectators as the otterwife stepped out from the elevator and onto the bloodstained sand.

Minerva gazed around her, her eyes wide in awe at the sheer amount of beasts in the crowd who had come to watch Nire's sick game. There were vermin and woodlanders, and even some creatures the otter had never seen before, filling every seat. A wrinkled old hare turned up his nose at her. Two young beasts whispered in each other's ears. One maiden bounced a baby on her lap as children peeked out curiously from behind her skirts- Hellgates, there were children here. Children were going to watch this...

The otterwife looked down at the bloodied sand in disgust.

Children had already seen this.

Everywhere she looked, she saw the face of another bewildered creature staring back at her. And then, the entire arena filled with their laughter.

"Oy, Nire. Where's the Monster?" Hammerpaw's voice rose above the ruckus. He chortled. "Is it behind the otterwife?"

Nire smirked at the complaint before calling for silence with a wave of his paw. "No, no, this is indeed the Monster of Mossflower Woods, everybeast. She might not be what you imagined- she wasn't what I was imagining either- but this is the very creature who lurked in those dark woods, and we've captured her for _your_ viewing pleasure. And let me tell you, she's something else. She killed six of the Iron Maiden's very best with nothing but her claws, teeth, and a stone! And the ravaged corpses that came before, well they didn't hang themselves, after all." He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his wine. "So, I'm sure she's going to give us _quite_ the show. Isn't that right, Monster?"

Minerva could only nod.

Nire smiled at her. "Then the match will begin. Step forward."

The otterwife grabbed her spear and did as she was told, making her way to the center of the ring where Hammerpaw waited. The wearet still held a look of disbelief on his face as Minerva stopped a few taillengths in front him. "What's yer name, marm? Or is it just 'Monster'?" he asked.

Minerva said nothing to him, merely sticking her spear into the dirt and kneeling down. She rubbed sand on her paws to help her grip before taking the haft back in her paws, and staring her opponent down.

"Not much of a talker then, are ya?" Hammerpaw said. The beast began to circle and Minerva matched his pace, tracing the shape of their movements in the sand with her spearpoint. "Can't lie, Monster. I was expectin' a bit more. But, weren't we all?"

The crowd spoke in a chorus of, "Aye!"

"Ye've got a look in yer eye though," he said, gesturing absentmindedly with his sword. She narrowed her gaze at him. "Aye, that one. A dangerous look, like ye've got somethin' yer fightin' for. I've snuffed out a lot of those. So, tell me, Monster. What is it? Is there a Mr. Monster, perhaps? Haha."

Minerva didn't answer.

Furrowing his brow, Hammerpaw spoke again. "Or maybe it's a little Monster." Minerva grimaced, and the wearet smiled. "Aye that's it." His eyes left hers for a moment as he looked back towards the Podium and whispered in a low tone. "Ye know what Nire does t' all the little slaves whose parents get slain in the arena, right? I once heard stories in the Drag that he gives 'em t' the boars t' eat. Of course, I don't think that's true. Nah, I think he sells off all the little lads t' the northern mines. The lasses... he gives t' Hargorn."

Blood boiled in Minerva's veins as she remembered her conversation with Kentigern. Hammerpaw made a mocking gesture and the audience laughed.

These beasts were scum. All of them. Nix was right.

"Come on, Monster." Hammerpaw banged his shield with the flat of his sword. "Don't ya want t' save yer young 'un?"

The spear trembled in the otterwife's paws and she struggled not to leap at the wearet then and there, but she held back, reminding herself of the beast's strategy and knowing it would likely only get her killed. She breathed deeply, reciting the words of Adeen's hopeful message in her head to calm herself, until the laughter subsided.

Minerva continued circling with Hammerpaw, ignoring each of the beasts provocations until, finally, the beasts in the crowd began to shift in their seats. Children grew restless and bored. And finally, somebeast shouted from the stands.

"Oy, Hammerpaw, hurry up and beat this wench!"

"Aye! Show 'er what for!" another said.

The wearet frowned and then, as Minerva expected he would do, pleased the crowd. Hammerpaw roared and charged forward, holding his shield in front of his chest in case his opponent tried to stab him with her spear. The otterwife though, had different plans.

From the very moment they started circling Minerva had buried just the tip of her spearpoint into the sand. Hammerpaw, of course, didn't notice. He was far too occupied trying to provoke her or entertain the crowd. How was he supposed to know that, as they walked, the otterwife had slowly pressed her spearpoint deeper and deeper?

Minerva swung her spear then, using its head as a makeshift shovel to fling sand in front of her and directly into Hammerpaw's eyes. The crowd gasped.

"Gah!" Hammerpaw stumbled backwards and clawed at his eyes.

Minerva knew not to approach a blinded warrior. Instinctively they would usually swipe in front of them with their weapons to protect themselves, and Hammerpaw did just that. The otterwife instead began to run and put as much distance between herself and the wearet as she possibly could.

A dribble of blood dripped from her muzzle and she wiped it away quickly with her sleeve. She stabbed her spear securely into the sand, and then reached for her sling.

Hammerpaw recovered just as Minerva loosed her first stone towards his head, and his shield paw snapped up just in time to block what could have been a fatal shot.

"Clever trick, marm. I'll give ya that," the wearet said, blocking another shot from the otterwife. He stepped forward slowly, keeping his shield in front of him and blocking the stones as they were fired. "But clever tricks don't matter if ya can't fight."

 _Knowin' how t' fight don't matter if ya can't kill._

Minerva threw her sling to the side and grabbed her spear before charging forward. She would be exposed, she knew, but even as the wearet raised his sword to strike, she didn't care. This wasn't a real arena match, the otterwife knew. In the end, it was still training. It was a test. Which was why Hammerpaw's weapon was still blunted on one side.

The blunted sword struck her on the arm and, had it been sharp, Minerva knew she likely would have lost it. The blow stung nonetheless and she had to stop herself from crying out and dropping her spear. But the pain was worth it. Hammerpaw was now exposed, and the otterwife's grip tightened on the haft of the weapon as she spun towards him and lashed out with it.

The wearet leapt away, but not quick enough, and yelped as the blade cut slightly into his side. The crowd grew silent.

Hammerpaw panted as thin threads of blood dripped from the scratch. Smiling, he looked to Minerva. "Looks like I've been wounded. Ye know what I get to do now...?"

Nobeast had even touched the wearet so far. For once, Minerva had no idea what Hammerpaw would do.

"I get t' wound ye back."

Hammerpaw turned the sword over in his paw to the other, deadly, side and rushed forward before Minerva could even react. Her eyes wide in sudden fright, she raised the haft of her spear and barely blocked the wearet's first strike. The beast recovered quickly and swung from another direction, and then another, and the otterwife struggled to keep up as she tried to protect herself.

In the end, Hammerpaw's strength and speed proved to be too much for Minerva to handle and he eventually batted the spear away with his shield and broke through her guard. The otterwife tried to pry his claws away as he seized her roughly by the collar and put his sword at her neck

"Ye know, I was expectin' more from you, Monster. With all those bodies hangin' in yer woods, I was expectin' ferocity, not just dirty tricks and gambles. What'd ye do, stab 'em all in the back when they weren't lookin'?" The beasts in the audience laughed along with the wearet.

Minerva stayed quiet.

"Still not talkin', eh?" Hammerpaw said. "Well, it's no matter. I'll get'cha t' scream at the very least. Ain't that right, Nire?"

And then the beast did what the otterwife had been waiting for and predictably turned his head.

In the one week Minerva had been in the Crater, Nire had chained her, collared her, humiliated her, and worst of all, threatened her daughter, all so she would play his sick, sick game. But, while the lynx forced her to play the game, that didn't mean she had to play by the rules. Because when Minerva first stepped into the arena, it hadn't been with two weapons...

It had been with three.

Minerva spat out her fishhook from her bleeding mouth and into her paw, and buried it deep in Hammerpaw's eye.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" The wearet's agonized scream echoed through the arena.

Minerva fell roughly on her back in the sand as her opponent let go of her and stumbled backwards, clutching at his face in pain. The otterwife instinctively rolled to the side as he stabbed down blindly with his sword where she had been only moments before.

Blindly, the wearet swung his sword around him, but Minerva kept low on her stomach away from danger. She unfastened her belt before looping it around his footpaws, then yanked as hard as she could. Hammerpaw stumbled and then fell roughly into the dirt.

Before he could get up, Minerva was already running to her fallen spear. Grasping it in both paws, she charged back at the beast as he struggled back to his knees. She leapt into the air and landed on Hammerpaw's exposed back, the momentum from her jump pushing her opponent face first back into the dirt. Then the otterwife raised her spear and drove it into his spine.

She stabbed him again. And again. And again. One time for every beast he killed before her, until Hammerpaw was almost unrecognizable and stopped moving. When she was finished, she panted heavily, and tossed her spear to the side.

The arena had grown silent. All around her, beasts- whether in the stands or the Drag- stared at Minerva in shock as she plucked the fishhook from the slain Hammerpaw's eye and tied it back to the cord around her neck. Blood trickled from her mouth from where the sharp point cut and prodded her during the battle, and she looked around her at the shocked crowd before baring her bloodied teeth at them.

"My name is Minerva," she said as she looked through the crowd of audience and slaves alike, "and I am the Monster of Mossflower Woods. That beast Hammerpaw was right. I do have a young 'un, a daughter, that Nire stole from me. She's my life. I love her... and _nothin'_ will stop me from savin' her. To anybeast who dares try and stop me, I leave Hammerpaw here as yer only warnin'. Because if ye dare stand between me and her... Fates help ye."

And then the crowd roared.

"MON-STER! MON-STER. MON-STER!" the audience chanted, their collected voices rising up and echoing throughout the arena to the point where the walls nearly shook.

Minerva smiled and looked up towards Nire in his Podium. The lynx was leaned as far forward in his chair as he could be and a wide, surprised smile was curled upon his face as the chant continued to echo throughout the Crater. A large beaver nudged him, angrily pointing to her before holding out three claws to the cat. Nire's expression faltered for a moment in realization, and he sighed and nodded.

Only a moment later, there was a sting in the back of her neck and Minerva blinked in surprise before stumbling in her steps. The familiar feeling of the world growing distant returned to her vision, but it seemed weaker than before. The arena tilted and churned, but the waves weren't as choppy. Minerva shook her head and took another step.

Another dart hit her, and it was then that Minerva fell forward into the sand and everything went black.


	24. Death Follows Close Behind

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting our website on our profile page to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Death Follows Close Behind**

 _By: Komi_

* * *

Whispers throughout the Crater said that today was the day of the Culling. Gladiators new to the Crater would to get their first taste of the arena. Prepared for such, then, Komi had spent the morning lingering in shadows of the Drag and near the privy. She'd spent the last few nights awake as much as possible, obsessing over her escape. Previous fights had told her that a lot of the guards and beasts who worked in the Crater were absent from the lower levels during the matches.

Now the time had come.

Komi was getting out.

During some of the confusion, Komi curled up under some old sacking in a rubbish pile. As the Drag had emptied and the slaves had been herded up to the arena, no one noticed Komi was missing. By sheer good fortune, her name had not been called yet.

While every eye in the Drag focused on Hammerpaw and the otter they called the Monster of Mossflower, Komi wriggled out of her hiding place. She stuck to the walls, staying near the shadows as she slipped down the tunnels to the level below.

Here she ducked behind some barrels, for there were still a few guards lingering about. They had long poles and were jabbing them into the lizard's pit, trying to get the creature heading up the tunnel towards, Komi assumed, the arena itself.

After a few minutes, their job done, the guards put up the poles and hurried up the tunnel, talking about the bets they had placed on various gladiators.

Komi slipped out as soon as they were out of sight. Watchful for anyone else left below, she crept along, heading for the scorpion pit. Though she'd hoped maybe the scorpions would be used in today's games, a quick glance in the pit itself told her she was not that fortunate. At least six of the black armored creatures sat in the bottom, moving about restlessly, disturbed by the commotion of the day.

Komi had brought a short length of rope that she'd found tossed in the rubbish pile and she loosely bound it around her waist in easy reach. Staring down at the dark pit below, she took several slow deep breaths. She bounced up and down on her toes several times.

Then voices echoed down the tunnel. Somebeast was coming!

The stoat looked left and right, seeing no obvious hiding place. She looked down into the dim pit and swallowed a lump in her throat.

She climbed out onto the bars that formed the grate over the pit itself, then quickly let her lean body slide between the gaps. For a heartbeat or two, Komi couldn't get her shoulders between the bars without dropping below, then she found a pawhold and pulled her head out of sight, hanging by the bars from her paws. Paw over paw, she maneuvered herself to the wall and found a niche in the rock to get her footpaws into and take the strain off her arms. She waited, pressed against the rock, dangling above restless scorpions, as the voices drew near. If they looked in the scorpion pit, she'd be discovered.

 _Walk on by. Walk on by._ She repeated over and over in her head.

Voices and pawsteps faded and Komi exhaled slowly. She looked over her shoulder at the hole high in the wall, covered by a smaller grate. Carefully, she removed one paw at a time from where she gripped the bars, rubbed it dry on her tunic, then took a strong, dry grip, and began swinging from paw to paw, releasing one paw, swing, grab the next bar, release the other paw, swing, grab the bar, hoping desperately that her grip would remain true. Finally, paws and arms burning from the strain, she reached the small tunnel, got her footpaws on it to take some pressure off her arms and caught her breath.

Drying her paws on her tunic again, she took fresh grips on the bars, then lifted her legs up to get them up and over the bars, so her weight hung from her knees. She released one pawgrip and grabbed at the metal grate over the hole. It lifted with only a slight squeal of hinges. She had to shift her position several times before she found a way to hold the small grate steady while she untied the rope from her waist and then retied it around the grate's edge and the bars of the pit's cover.

Finally, the grate was secure. Komi unslung her legs from the bars and pawwalked her way to the small tunnel. The final difficult task was getting her body in the tunnel itself. It wasn't big enough for her to turn around in, so she had to work her way in, head first, without losing her grip and falling to the pit below.

Once safely in, Komi took a moment to catch her breath and rest her aching arms, lying in the tunnel opening. Then she reached her footpaw out and hooked a loop she'd made in a dangling edge of the rope holding the grate open. A few sharp tugs loosened the slipknot and the grate fell back down to its place. She caught it so it wouldn't clang against the rock, then lowered it fully. She knotted the rope back around her waist, not eager to leave it behind as evidence of her path, then faced the long dark tunnel before her.

Pushing to all fours, she crawled up the tunnel and left the light of the monsters' cave behind. Komi heard nothing but her own breathing and her heart, hammering too fast in her chest. Her eyes strained in the dark, but not a scrap of light made it past her.

She crawled on, focused only on the idea of escape, the air above her and the road under her paws once more. She had a passing regret for the pack she'd left in the Crater. Nire's beasts had taken her drum and flute along with her pack, but risking her life for those things would have been beyond foolish. Someday, they could be replaced.

She climbed on, the tunnel turning upwards and forcing her to brace forepaws and footpaws against the sides to gain purchase.

Komi fought down feelings of panic, wondering if maybe this tunnel went on forever, or if it ended in a dead end. She wanted to sing or hum, but worried that her voice would carry. So she gritted her teeth and climbed on.

A fresh breeze caressed her face and Komi almost laughed in relief. The opening had to be close! She was almost out.

Komi heard voices. She froze and listened.

"…fault we're late."

"Ah, shaddaup, if you hadn't gotten drunk at that tavern, we'd been here yesterday."

"Oi, watch 'im!"

"I got it!"

"Quick bugger, ain't 'e?"

Komi thought she heard a sort of hissing rattle somewhere up the tunnel and an icy chill ran down her spine.

"'Ere we go, mate. Nice little dark 'ole for you. Git down there and join your friends."

Komi hadn't realized that there'd been a tiny bit of light coming from somewhere in front of her until it was blocked out and the voices were muffled slightly. Then she heard the skittering clatter of too many hard _somethings_ in the tunnel.

The sound drew nearer.

A squeal slipped from Komi's throat and she backed up the way she had come. Sliding down the tunnel. Scraping elbows and knees on the sides. Cracking her head on the top. The whole time expecting to feel the harsh grip of black claws.

It wasn't any better when she bumped her rump against the small grate over the tunnel, and realized she had enough light now to see what came after her. The scorpion had no recognizable face, just pairs of parts that moved nightmarishly between the heavy black claws.

Komi screamed and pushed the grate back, half falling into the scorpion's pit, while the creature skittered forward and snapped a pincher a hair's breathe from her nose. She slid down, claws barely catching the edge of the rock tunnel, as the scorpion came right over top of her. It's armored legs scrabbled at her, looking for purchase of it's own, before it fell to the floor.

Komi's claws slipped and she slid down the pit face, frantically grasping. A claw in the rock here, another in a crack there, and she stopped. Gasping and gulping, she pressed her head against the rock, as she felt for a better purchase while her claws that held her up felt as if they were ripping from her skin. Only when she had a slightly better grip, did she dare to glance down.

The scorpions skittered just below her, claws upraised, some trying to reach the morsel just out of their reach, the others facing off against the newcomer dropped in their midst.

Komi looked up towards the grate and her heart sank to her stomach. There was no way she could reach it and climb back out. Already, she felt her grip wavering.

"Help," she managed weakly. Then took a deep breath and screamed the word again.

She almost wept when paws came running to her call.

She focused everything on hanging on while the beasts above shouted and scrambled around. After what felt like ages, a couple of the guards came carefully across the top of the grate with a pair of catch poles. Komi had to release one paw from the wall to grab at the rope lowered from the pole, though with a skillful flick, the guard got it around her wrist first and she gripped the rope from there, while the other one nearly cracked her across the head.

They pulled Komi up and roughly dragged her through the bars of the grate. She flopped, exhausted and shaking, on the stone floor next to the pit when they released her. She stared into the pit and into the spot where she'd clung desperately. Fresh tremors wracked through her.

Until someobeast dumped a bucket of cold water over her.

Komi gasped and looked up.

Nire stood before her, paws crossed over his chest and a narrowed, angry expression on his eyes.

"Komi Banton, isn't it?" he said, but didn't wait for her confirmation. "You were supposed to be in the arena today, and instead I find you down here, trying to get away?"

She didn't have words, still too physically and mentally exhausted for anything.

"Well, as much as I hope you learned your lesson with your little adventure, I don't take kindly to runaways." He leaned close, his breath hot in her face. "I have ways of dealing with beasts like you!"

Nire straightened and gestured to Komi. "Bring her!"

They dragged her deeper into the Crater, leaving the scorpion pit behind.

They stopped in front of a cell that already had an unconscious female otter inside. Komi stared at her, trying to remember why the otter looked so familiar, then the guards dragged her inside the adjoining cell. One clamped a shackle around her right ankle and they left her alone in the stone room.

Komi rubbed her face with her paws and fought down the urge to cry, or maybe scream. With a shuddering breath, she looked at her new surroundings.

To her left was a soft, mossy wall, while the walls on the right and behind her were jagged rock. Iron bars filled her vision in front.

Shakily, Komi stood, her chain clanking as she walked towards the bars, but it wasn't long enough for her to reach them. When she tried anyway, the chain scraped against something and she got a little further. Her eyes followed the trailing edge of the chain until it ran under a grate in the right wall. A small barred window sat above the grate in the jagged wall and she walked over to peer through it.

On the other side of the wall, wearing the opposite end of the chain, lay the otter. Komi recognized her now, remembering the young one that she'd carried during the long trek to the Crater. Nire kept calling her the Monster of Mossflower.

"Wonderful," she grumbled. "I'm chained to a woodlander." Komi stepped back from the window and looked around her cell. She picked up the chain and drug the unconscious otter in the opposite cell right up to the grate. That gave Komi just enough slack in the chain to reach the mossy wall. She leaned her back and head against the softness and closed her eyes, too exhausted to worry about nightmares.

End of Round 1


	25. Born and Raised

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Born and Raised**

 _By: Adeen_

* * *

Start of Round 2

The crash of metal on stone, and two rat guards jumped alive.

They drew their truncheons and blitzed past doorways, alcoves, and barred windows revealing the arena below. A white mouse at the windows watched the exhibition fights, but otherwise the base tier of The Crater stood empty. The guards paid the slave no mind and continued down the hallway for a beast out of order, or yet another assassin.

Pieces of the culprit scattered along the hallway's end: a tin plate with apple slices fallen from a windowsill.

The first guard scratched at his nicked ear and laughed too long and too loud.

"Oy, little jumpy," said Nick. "Scaredy Drubbins and the big bad apple."

"Could've been another rat after Nire..." said Drubbins. "And you jumped too!"

"Only after you, mate. You want first honors? Give the fruit a good smack for scarin' yah."

Drubbins shoved Nick into the wall. Another taunt turned into another shove. And onward the wheel spun until both guards wrestled across the floor, churning the apple slices into sauce. A shadow detached from an alcove a few yards away. The mouse at the window, and the guards in their brawl, noticed nothing as it passed. Golden vines and poppies glittered along its crown as the creature ascended the once guarded stairwell and into the sun.

Adeen remained crouched when she reached The Crater's top tier. From so high up, the fighting pit below looked like a dibbun's toy set come alive, the roar of the crowd more a fog of whispers than an imperative. She opened her journal and checked a makeshift map as she nibbled on apple slices. The Crater wound circular given its nature, but many of the tiers cut away or funneled into dead ends.

Below, the wrestling guards argued their way back to their post at the stairwell's bottom. Adeen holstered her journal and skulked away.

Nire called the guest holdings "suites," and the majority were carved into the Eastern, topmost tier. A loudmouth ferret in the kitchens called them prime napping and rutting spots, if you had the coin for the guards. A butcher in the underbelly called them fancier jails. Adeen saw no lovers or cells, but only rows of uniform oaken doors fixed into polished stone.

With care and soft stride, Adeen pressed her ear against each door she passed. The first affirmed the kitchen ferret's ill mind as the sound of rhythmically creaking wood filled her ear. She spat upon the doorway and tried the next, but found only silence. Near all the doors offered no hint of their contents until the very last.

The cheers of high voices, the innocent pitch of honesty and joy, greeted the vole. Young ones giggled with glee as their stumpy paws scrabbled along the floor. Adeen's throat clenched, and for a moment she knew the Bastion alleyways, the sand once afire now cold with moonlight, their beautiful, still faces.

 _No. Why is this happening? Why now?_

A slip of her paw behind her back. Adeen gripped the rondel's hilt, secured beneath her vest above the base of her tail. The memories vanished, and the echoes of joyful laughter became the crack of wood and the screams of an embattled hare.

Adeen opened the door and slipped inside.

Pulped grass and acid, summer rain and candied cherries; the reek of youth assaulted Adeen. Their caretaker, who never rose above a stoop, ambled from behind a makeshift play tent. Marik picked up a hog babe, playfully shook loose a few pastries hidden in its coat, and laughed with the other dibbuns.

Not a one of them noticed Adeen for all their chores and merriment. Though she need only clear her throat, she could not move or speak.

Marik startled on noticing Adeen, and placed himself before his charges. A string of an ottermaid stood at the back of the pack, her face the slope of a farm lass who enjoyed moving rocks as much as drinking sweet sap. A wilting lily adorned the front of the otter's dress.

Adeen found her voice and bowed in greeting.

"Apologies, sir. I did not wish to interrupt. I-if only all chores were such fun, aye?"

The dagger above Adeen's tail heated against her back. Seconds churned into decades, but the young marten visibly warmed.

"Interrupting would've done this troublemaker a kindness." Marik squeezed the cheek of the pastry-smuggling hog by his side, and gestured at Adeen's journal. "I see you're here for a chore as well."

"Indeed. I'm Adeen Tullus, scribe for Master Borean. He trusts his guests are well, and sent me to make sure."

The partial lie rolled easy off of Adeen's tongue as she imagined the lynx asking for hostage inventory, as he did for wine barrels and ingots.

"Doesn't sound like Nire..." Marik twisted in place, as though engaging in difficult mathematics. "I'd let him know if something was wrong."

"Ah, yes." Adeen studied the stones between her footpaws. "You've caught me. I am Nire's scribe, but I'm here on my own behalf."

She paused with purpose, and reaped a soft "Oh?" from Marik.

"I rode the same train as most of these pups. We kept each other warm on the long journey."

Marik leaned in closer as the hook of Adeen's whispers sunk in.

"I only wished to see them again."

Marik danced in place, as it seemed martens often did when thinking, and then called his herd to assembly. He knelt and spoke too low for Adeen's hearing. The hoglets, the Monster's daughter, and many others turned from Adeen to Marik and back. A ratmaid on the far right shook her no. One by one Marik directed his inaudible questions, and one by one they shook their heads no.

Adeen's ears turned red as the marten asked Fable. Adeen dug through her side satchel until she found the lily stitching. One flash of the half-finished flower, one catch of the small otter's eye, and Fable nodded her head yes. Her naked enthusiasm infected the hoglets beside Fable, and they joined in their big sister's agreement.

Marik waved Adeen over.

"Thank you." Adeen tugged at the slave collar on her neck. "There are few comforts here, as you know."

"Aye. The guards wouldn't like this, but how can I say no to this face?"

Marik picked up a hoglet and spun him away, scattering the young ones to their own devices. Fable alone remained, and she fixed on the lily stitching in Adeen's paw. Adeen took her time. She guided Fable towards one of the unattended beds, spread out her journal and inks on top, and hoisted Fable up beside. Only then did she press the stitching into the young otter's paw.

"...who are ye?"

"I'm your mother's friend." Adeen opened to Minerva's entry. "She sent me to check on you."

The needle and white thread hung from the patch of cloth, and Fable stitched with unsteady paws. She poked once, then again, and when the needle would not push through she tried pulling. A twitch of surprise as Fable jabbed her paw. The old rhythms set into place, and Adeen produced a handkerchief from her kit. Fable would not look her way, but let the vole press, clean, and wrap the stab with a ribbon.

"Would you like help?"

Adeen sat upon the bed with Fable and ran her paws underneath the ottermaid's own. Fissures and ink turned the pink of Adeen's paws into granite, rubbled further besides Fable's pristine webbing. With ease, with care, they worked the stitching together. The otter focused on keeping the petals straight, the vole struggled in keeping the flower a lily and not a poppy.

Adeen wriggled away as they finished the first petal and knelt before her book once more. The cloud dagger dug against her back, against her cloak, but she ignored the weight.

"Is mummy okay?"

"She was safe and well last I saw her. I wish to keep it that way."

"Why?"

Adeen did not take the farmer's daughter for inquisitive, yet Fable asked her questions with all the weight of a seasoned tracker.

"I..." Adeen fought the 'was,' and smiled through their screams at the back of her mind. "...am a mother too. I'd do anything for my young. Same as Minerva."

Fable stopped stitching, as though tasting a bitter candy in the vole's words. Consideration turned into the screwed face of confusion. Confusion drew a sheen over the child's large, reflective eyes. Adeen placed a paw upon Fable's knee and stopped the tide.

"I wanna go h-home."

The old mechanisms took over. Adeen's quill scratched in the journal, and Fable's name received a sheath of lily petals as the vertical rung of the F. The ottermaid leaned close and watched the vole's art spawn flora. Every letter received a flower, or a vine, as exact and crisp as the hem of Adeen's hood. The scribe pressed on as the enchantment held tight, and rescued the child from the brink.

"Then let me help." The quill tip all but punctured Minerva's page as the vole readied. "I will make an escape plan, but first I must know your mother better. Is she strong? Is she fast? Has she ever been hurt?"

"I dunno..."

"I'm no stranger, Fable." Adeen tapped the stitching with her quill, dotting the white thread with black ink. "Your mother trusted me to give you this flower. She'd want me to know."

"Well..."

Fable wrung the stitching in her paws.

"Mummy doesn'd like fishin'. She likes onions an' carrods, an'..."

The child's acquiescence drew a sweetness across Adeen's tongue. Her quill skittered across the journal. Page and margin filled as Fable spoke of their farm, of her father, of the filigree on the fireplace poker. Adeen stopped mid speech and admired the wealth of knowledge, of opportunities that'd keep herself and others safe.

Yet, between the lines, she spotted tiny characters almost too close for reading. Fable's glowing report washed away, everything washed away, as the vole leaned down and read the unintentional words.

 _ThreeForCanen_

Two. Fourteen. More. Like festering boils they jumped from the pages of notes, onward throughout the entirety of the journal until Adeen lost count. But with each repetition she saw the vole's silver-tinged muzzle twisted in triumph, the indifference of Granz as he studied clouds, their beautiful faces immobile within a vegetable crate.

One arm reached backwards with care and stealth. The leather of the dagger's grip fit eagerly into Adeen's paw. A rattled sigh primed.

And then her cowl clinched at her throat.

"'Scuse me, love. Need to have a word with _Mrs. Tullus._ "

A strong grip seized Adeen's scruff and heart, and hoisted her like a sack of grain. Adeen woke from her trance as Hapley, The Crane, opened the nursery door with his free paw, chucked her into the hallway, and closed it behind.

Adeen tumbled into the oaken door across the hall, her journal clutched under one arm, somehow held safe despite the ambush. Her mind screamed for drawing the rondel, but her heart ceased between beats. The Crane spoke first, low as distant thunder.

"Slaves are not allowed here." Hapley closed the little space between them. "Tell me what you're doing or join the exhibition below."

"The Monster." Lies, truths, and distractions fought for purchase, but the words flowed free before Adeen decided. "She wished to know her daughter's condition."

"And you broke the rules to do so?"

The question needed no answer, but Adeen nodded all the same. The fox leaned down and Adeen braced for punch, or a stab, or-

"What happened to you?"

Adeen's chest hallowed. His inflection had not changed over the years, Adeen realized. In those summer days of feasts and orchard games, he'd say the same when she entered the infirmary covered in brier and gatehouse ink. Candied ginger wafted from the healer in those days, for his belt pouch always full of treats for good dibbuns.

Hapley carried no sweets now, or nettles in his headfur, but Adeen trembled as time caught up once again.

"I do not know. I only wished to help; I only wished to move on. But every time I think I'm safe I can't...I can't..."

The fog of distant cheers filled her pause, the exhibition games at their climax of blood and steel. Hapley spoke up when Adeen dissolved into hiccups and sharp inhales.

"I understand." Hapley put one paw on Adeen's shoulder. "Not your crimes, or what you're thinking, but the weight. This place bleeds you, and no kindness is without cost." The fox unconsciously scratched at his halved ear.

"W-what do you mean?"

Hapley opened his muzzle, stopped, and tried again.

"Keep yourself safe first. Whatever plans you have, your actions put you under suspicion. Not all the guards are as slow as the Stubtail twins. Others who spot a dagger through your cloak might do worse than pull you aside."

Adeen's heart stopped.

"Linen is too thin, and it hangs on the metal." Hapley considered the frozen vole before him. "Don't worry. You can keep it so long as filth like Hargorn exists. All I ask is-"

The door behind Adeen burst open.

Two ferret slaves, the bed creakers Adeen heard before, exited the vacant suite drenched with sweat. Their revelry died as Hapley gripped them by their collars. Excuses flew, blame lanced between the 'lovers,' the guards who accepted the bribe, and even Vulpuz down low.

Adeen did not stay for Hapley's verdict. As the Stubtail twins clanged up the stairs, she slipped past once more and fled into the clockworks of The Crater.

* * *

Adeen breathed again once she reached the underbelly, her new home.

The Crater's lowest tier, behind and beneath the arena itself, served as a nexus for the ugly beasts in Nire's employ. Scorpion handlers more feral than their charges, butchers of the fallen, and false priests delivering last rites to still-alive losers. All packed into the unnamed strip of shadow and stone in The Crater's underbelly.

While the tiers above were devoid of workers, the underbelly thrived with the bodies of those fallen in the exhibition. Blood and sand caked the slaves who dragged away the dead. Some bodies were tossed without ceremony on carts meant for the scorpion pits. Unknown combatants were stacked by masked beasts on top of a drainage grate. The grate slowly drank what did not spill in the arena, and those with slitting knives passed bet-earned coins as they waited.

All of them eager to play their role, thought Adeen. All of them 'kept safe' so long as others bleed. This cannot be what the healer meant. There must be more than this.

The Crane's advice vanished as Adeen's name cannoned across the underbelly. A vixen, whose fur was all but stripped by alchemical powders, beckoned the vole over. Adeen ignored the drainage grate, the half-playful taunts of 'Scribblin' Widow' from workers she passed, and the stench of iron infecting her senses.

Mortician Muda wore only a mask, a smock, and arm-length gloves. A viridian sheen graced her naked flesh, which matched her eyes and the sprigs of wilted lavender poking out of her mask's muzzle. She hoisted the fallen from the drainage pile and stacked them like so many bricks upon a cart. A mouse with its throat torn out. A squirrel punctured beyond hope. The vixen parted the fallen from their clothes and equipment as one shucks oysters.

Adeen kept a few paces from her boss, who spoke and moved in sweeps.

"Late. You're late. You're late again!"

"My apologies. Nire needed me for a-"

Adeen jumped aside as the hulking vixen dropped her latest body and turned on her.

"Nire? You're not Nire's pet, you're mine. You were given to _me._ " Adeen kept silent and nodded. "Fetch your tools and draw a list: which are feed, and which are Greats. They are one to me, scribe."

Adeen fled. An old holding cell at the back corner of the underbelly served as both bedchamber and workspace for the vixen and vole. Cracked embalming jars, stacked on broken surgical tables, served as scroll holders. Sheaths of papers were pinned beneath in-progress grave markers, carved by Adeen with near-blunt chisels and aligned by chalk-dusted twine. These were the only items Adeen dare touch, for every available space besides filled with tinctures and creams of Muda's design.

Adeen drew her rondel and stuffed it into one of her scroll jars.

Nobeast would look for a weapon in my scrolls, she reasoned. And may it rest there until its use is clear.

Only when the acid in Adeen's veins ebbed did she start Muda's task. Automatic, immediate, she opened her journal and a fresh scroll upon the tabletop. A quick look through Madder Barrow's section revealed the dead mouse and squirrel as Patrolbeast Envar and Hunter Tanra respectively.

Adeen drew two columns on her scroll. She headed the left as 'Dispose' and the right as 'For Hall of the Greats.'

"Muda wouldn't honor these beasts, but they deserve better." Adeen bit on the feather of her quill. "No, I mustn't. This is what the healer meant. A foolish risk. Senseless."

Yet, her paw strayed to the right side of the page. 'Prowler Envar' and 'Tanra the Terror' appeared on the page. Adeen scrawled false tales of victories won by the woodlander duo. Mouse and squirrel in arms, rangers of Greater Mossflower who followed their prey into the very sands of The Crater. Match after match they faced enemies of old, the mouse a fencer of dazzling speed and the squirrel a pikebeast of infinite stamina.

Adeen realized an arena regular might know the tales as false. She did not care. With a flourish, she underlined their names and breathed free of the powders and rust around her.

Then the cell's door swung open.

"Where are they."

A mouse with curled fur as white as clouds stood in the doorway. She wore the collar of a slave, and leather halfplate cobbled together from scavenged sets. No weapons hung from her belt, and no tail from her rump, but coiled muscle surged down her exposed arms and legs to cloth-wrapped paws. Adeen searched the beast for motive, her memory for a relation.

The mouse at the upper tier windows watching the exhibition, only hours ago.

The mouse Cricken pointed at on her first day in The Drag, who confirmed Adeen as The Widow.

 _You, you said you were there. They dragged her through Bastion like a feral._

"The list? Muda will have it soon."

"You're not giving Muda anything." The mouse chewed on a sharpened twig at the corner of her muzzle. "Give it to me."

Adeen nodded, yet her tail coiled beneath her cloak. She expected this much from upjumping males, or arena toughs fighting for roster space, but not for a scribe's task. She filled the remainder of her list while browsing through the journal for signs of the white mouse. No entry, no margin notes, no anything. Only the screams of a squirrel labeling the mouse as a Bastion native.

But I'd not seen her on the train, thought Adeen. I cannot recall seeing her anywhere.

"Here you are." The mouse took Adeen's scroll. "We neighbors should stick together. From what part of Bastion did you hail?"

"The cellars of The Endless March, if you're familiar." The mouse snorted in a mix of amusement and derision as she unfurled the scroll. "I imagine you are. Murdering is thirsty work."

Adeen only dipped her muzzle in acknowledgement. She did not know Bastion's tavern first paw, but the watering hole housed more off duty soldiers than travelers. The tower turned tavern also hosted Southsward nobility on tour, and, by rumor, many a seedy rendezvous by Duke Granz. A creature of that den would not-

The mouse rapped Adeen's muzzle with the scroll and broke the train of thought.

"This isn't the list. I remember some of the names, and none of these fit."

"It most certainly is. My notes are accurate and I saw the beasts myself."

"I know you took the lot. Give em back and I'll forgive your pinching."

"I don't know what you mean." The mouse turned full on Adeen, the shadows under her blackened eyes the billow of a storm cloud. "T-take your own notes if you're so sure. I've tools here you can use."

"That's the way, is it. Real neighborly of you."

In the moment, as the mouse picked up an embalming jar and smashed it upside Adeen's head, the vole thought of GUOSIM cutters breaching the foam of The Great Sea. Time caught up, and Adeen found herself sprawled on the floor, the contents of her kit scattered about her with pot shards.

"Where are they."

"Please! I d-don't..." Blood poured from Adeen's cheek and jaw. "I don't know what you mean!"

"Keep your lies."

The mouse picked a half-carved gravestone and held it over her head. Adeen grabbed the nearest thing and threw wild. The ink pot smashed against the mouse's temple and sprayed black across her eyes. The headstone smashed onto the ground between Adeen's legs, and she jumped up and made for the door as the mouse wiped her eyes clear.

A crowd blocked her retreat. Butchers and slaves whispering bets. All stood as spectators before the match in progress.

Adeen called for help from her boss, from anybeast, but her words melted into bile as the mouse's ink-stained fist smashed into her spine. The crowd cheered as the mouse uncurled and mounted the floored vole.

"You took over my bunk." One punch. "You stole my stash." Twice more. "And now you lie."

Adeen remained conscious of the cheers, of the jeers against the Black Widow and her obviously weak husband, of the concussive force of blow after blow against her face and chest. For only a moment the stars and lyrics along The Drag's bunk shone clear. Yet, this was no child, and the force of its knuckles into Adeen's forehead crushed surfacing questions of Canen, of escape.

The mouse's eyes and brow, slashed and stained with ink, churned as her calm broke into fury.

"Where's my dagger, huh? Where is it!?"

A stoat shouldered through the crowd and tackled the mouse.

They wrestled along the floor, but the mouse's rage was no match for the vermin's experience. Aldridge grappled and threw her into the onlooking crowd, which broke apart and scattered at the collision. The ink-dipped mouse picked herself up and spat at them both.

"You don't know what you're doing," said the mouse.

"Well, that hasn't got me killed so far," said Aldridge.

"Not yet, but my blade will see your back. By my paw or hers."

Adeen did not see the mouse escape, or even feel Aldridge deliver her onto Muda's cot. For minutes, for months, all Adeen knew was the howl of her wracked body. Once the ringing stopped, Adeen found Aldridge sitting beside her.

She tried rising, but Aldridge placed his paw square on her chest. "Stay down for now."

All concern for the calculating vermin buried with the warmth of his paw.

"T-thank you." The effort of speech made her jaw click, and her wounds reignite, but she tried all the same. "Please. Keep watch."

In time, when the throbbing dulled from its immediacy, Adeen sat up once more. The pain filled her eyes with tears, made her gasp, and yet she rose. Aldridge's paw came down again, this time behind her shoulder blades in aid.

"I'm taking her to the infirmary," Aldridge called through to the main work area.

Muda, in reply from the grate, spewed forth curses and smashed bottles of liquid in colors against nature's design. Aldridge's voice, the calm gravity of a priest or a schoolmaster, rebuffed all of the mortician's ire. The stoat picked Adeen off the cot and carried her out and away without further challenge.

"Will you enlighten me?" Aldridge murmured as he walked along, each gentle pawstep amplified into her torso. "Who did I just save you from?"

 _Keep your lies._

"I do not know. She claims she lives in Bastion, but I've never seen her. Another beast ran mad from Nire's games..."

"Mad or not, you'd do well to stay out of the shadows." The cross of calculation knit the stoat's brow. "Speaking of Nire, I wish to talk with him again."

"Why? They're words wasted on deaf ears."

"For reason's sake. I do not think that he can be redeemed - but I've been wrong before."

"Speak with him, so I may stick him from behind." Adeen's spirit filled with iron, despite the jest. "Then we burn his temple to ash."

"His temple, hm?" A stoat's smile, but Adeen could not decipher mirth or savagery through her blurred vision. "But the beasts of the Barrow would hunt us down for burning it. The Crater could be useful. A fortress, a circus, a place of music and art and trade. Every beast deserves a second chance. Why not this place too?"

His hopes pulled Adeen within. Chances. She'd offered the mouse a chance at working together. She'd gone out of her way for the Monster, the Crane, the assassin, the fallen villagers. Though the stoat saved her in time, no rescue would've proven necessary if she'd stayed vigilant.

A shard of pottery, still lodged in Adeen's face, dug deeper and affirmed the call.

"Nire, The Crater, and his ilk turned the mouse into what she is..."

Adeen bit her lip for focus, and the fresh flow joined her battered gums.

"...and to what I am. Not again. They will end, and soon."

Aldridge only nodded, and Adeen rested her muzzle against his vest. Clarity reigned, and the pages of her journal flew as performing sparrows through her mind. Sections ripped free, flashed before her, and soon she knew which beast she'd deal with first.

Though the weapon hid far away, Adeen knew the comfort of the dagger's hilt as she squeezed her paw.

"And I know where I must start."


	26. Tug of War

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Tug of War**

 _By: Minerva_

* * *

It was several hours after the Culling ended when the drug left her system and Minerva's eyelids began to flutter open. In the fringes of her darkened vision, the otterwife saw rough stone and iron bars. She scrunched up her brow and groaned- tasting blood on her tongue- before pressing herself up to her elbows on the cold stone floor so she could get a better look at her new surroundings.

As she feared, she was in a cell somewhere in the underground access tunnels of the Crater. Flames crackled within a brazier right outside the bars in the tunnel corridor, casting the cell in a mixture of orange light and dark shadows. Minerva blinked tiredly, her eyes tracing along the rough and jagged rock walls to her left and behind, before settling on the rightmost wall which was laced with soft moss. Built out of the floor beside it was a stone water trough and the otterwife licked her dry lips, realizing she hadn't had anything to drink since long before her battle with Hammerpaw.

Minerva tried to rise and move towards it, but something snagged at her left footpaw. She looked to see a shackle clamped firmly around it. A chain sprung from it which disappeared through a barred grate at the bottom of the leftmost wall next to her. Experimentally, she tried to draw in her leg but it hardly moved more than a few inches before the chain grew taut.

Furrowing her brow, the otterwife peered through the grate and followed the chain's length. Attached to the shackle at the other end was Komi Banton, the singing stoat she recognized from the slave caravan.

"Wonderful," Minerva grumbled. "I'm chained to a vermin."

At the far end of her own cell, the stoat rested comfortably asleep against the mossy wall with nearly the entire length of chain to herself. Minerva furrowed her brow, knowing that so long as that was the case she wouldn't be able to even stand let alone get to the water trough.

Everything made sense to the otterwife then. The jagged walls. The chain that was just long enough to reach the moss and trough. The second beast it was attached to. This wasn't just a cell. It was a battlefield just as much as the arena was. Whichever of the two prisoners was stronger would control the chain and be allowed drink and comfort, while the other would be forced to suffer.

Minerva took another look at the sleeping stoat and scowled, recalling the nights in the Drag the vermin kept everybeast awake with her incessant singing. Grabbing hold of the chain around her leg, the otterwife braced herself...

...and then tugged as hard as she could.

Minerva heard a yelp and a thud from the other side of the wall as she pulled Komi forcefully out of her slumber. Before the stunned stoat could even attempt to recover, the otterwife was already on her feet, tightening her grip on the chain and dragging the vermin roughly across the floor.

There was only enough time for Minerva to drink a pawful of water from the trough before a low growl erupted from behind her and the chain suddenly snagged at her leg. She stumbled back a few steps but quickly recovered, spinning around and grabbing her end of the chain before she could lose any more ground.

The chain instantly grew taut as both beasts took hold of their respective ends and pulled. They struggled against one another, footpaws bracing against the smooth stone floor, but neither beast let the other have an inch.

Through the small, barred window in the cell wall, Minerva saw the stoat scowl. "You crazy mud-dog! What is wrong with you? I was _asleep!_ "

Minerva growled. "That didn't bloody stop ye from draggin' _me_ around now, did it?"

"I wanted to get comfortable."

"Aye, and I wanted a drink."

Komi rolled her eyes. "You're a bloody riverdog. Of course you wanted a drink."

"Oh, well, is yer trough filled with blood then, vermin? You beasts seem t' like that a good deal." Minerva spat.

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk, _Monster of Mossflower_ , murdering and hanging vermin around your home like trophies!"

"Warnings," Minerva corrected. "There's a difference."

"Typical woodlander warnings. Keep clear or we'll butcher you and your kin."

"Only so ye don't butcher _ours!_ "

The two beasts held firm against the other's pulls, continuing to fight and tug in vain as they spat insults and argued. Minerva glared at her opponent through the window before clenching her teeth and pulling hard, earning herself another two inches of slack. Komi responded in kind and reeled her back.

"Oh ho! Is that the sound of rattling chains I hear? Has the Monster woken from her slumber?"

Both beasts tore their glares from one another in confusion as Nire Borean's voice carried loudly through the tunnels. Hardly a moment passed before the Lord of the Crater appeared in front of Minerva's cell with a wide smile on his maw and a spring in his stride. A few moments later, a bored-looking Commander Nix took her usual position behind him and rolled her eyes.

"Aha! There she is. The Monster of Mossflower!" The lynx eyed her like a treasure as he pressed himself against the bars with glee. "I knew you were special. Didn't I say she was special, Nix?"

The marteness gave a muted, "Yes."

Nire looked back at Minerva. "You are the talk of the Crater, did you know that? Everywhere I've gone today, from the stands, to the pubs, to the Drag, beasts have been talking about the otterwife who slew Hammerpaw. Hellgates, I'm still getting goosebumps thinking about it, myself. Hiding the hook in your mouth? Genius. And the bloodied fangs? Absolutely chilling. Exactly what I was hoping for from the Monster of Mossflower," Nire said.

"Bloodied fangs?" Komi muttered with a glance towards the otterwife.

"Oh, aye! You should have seen it, Miss Banton. She's going to give babes nightmares for weeks!" Nire said excitedly.

"What's the point of this, Nire?" Minerva growled.

"The point? The point is that you've impressed me and a lot of other beasts, too. I want more beasts to come and see what I've seen. I want more to see _you,_ " Nire explained. "Already I have beasts hounding me about when your next match might be scheduled, which means we need to get to work."

From the inner pocket of his vest, Nire produced a bundle of parchment that was bound tight by a simple cord. The lynx licked a claw and flipped through them, smiling finally when he came to the page he was looking for. Fitting it through the space between the cell bars, he turned the book so that Minerva could see.

"What do you think of this?" he asked.

The otterwife raised her brow in confusion. Drawn on the page Nire was showing her was an illustration of her fishhook. The cord attached to it however was replaced with that of a thick, knotted rope, and the hook itself curled to complete the design of a noose.

"What- what am I lookin' at?" Minerva asked.

"Your Sigil." Nire said with a smile. At the otterwife's silence, he sighed and closed the book. "Like a knight has a coat of arms, a popular gladiator must have a Sigil. After what you did to Hammerpaw, I figured that fishhook of yours would be fitting. Do you like it?"

"Do you?" Minerva said, narrowing her gaze.

Nire laughed. "Good answer. Once I'm done commissioning my seamstresses, this will be on every banner and every flier from here to Northvale. I'm sure beasts will come far and wide to see the Monster of Mossflower."

The lynx turned towards Nix behind him. "Do you have it?"

"Aye," the marten answered, reaching into a satchel she wore and pulling out a light blue bundle from it. Without a word, Nix tossed it through the bars and it landed lightly at Minerva's footpaws.

The otterwife picked it up tentatively, only realizing what it was when she unfolded the cloth and held it in front of her. It was the dress she had worn the day of her capture. They took it from her when she first entered the Drag.

"Every gladiator needs an image," Nire explained, "and I want you to keep the homely otterwife look. Anybeast in the audience who hasn't seen you will be surprised, and taking beasts by surprise seems to be your specialty. Of course, we made some changes."

Minerva's eyes flitted over the rips torn haphazardly in the hem and sleeves of the garment.

"Now it truly looks like something a savage Monster would wear," Nire continued. "Go on, put it on. A true gladiator shouldn't be wearing slave rags."

Minerva did as she was bid, quickly pulling off her bloodied rags and donning the familiar garment. "And my hook?" she said, realizing that in her struggle with Komi, she had failed to notice it wasn't around her neck.

"Oh, that tiny thing?" Nire asked. He pulled the hook from his vest pocket, twirling it by the cord casually with a claw before he stopped and inspected it in the firelight. "It was a clever trick what you did with it, but I feel you could do more damage with a real weapon. I'll commission a blacksmith to make you a real hook, one big enough you can swing around like a dagger. This one... this one can go in a waste bin somewhere."

The chain grew taut as Minerva tried to run towards the bars, but snagged halfway. She held out her paw in desperation. "Please don't!" she cried. "It ain't just a weapon. It's all I... it's- it's important t' me."

Nire smirked, twirling it by the cord for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he stopped and tossed it at the otterwife's feet. "Wear it. Don't take it off. It's your Sigil. Consider it a reward for putting on a good show."

"Have you forgotten that she cheated with that?" Nix argued.

"Of course not," Nire said with a look towards the marteness. "I was just about to get to that actually."

The lynx clasped his paws together as he turned back to his prisoner. "Right, onto that unfortunate matter." Nire's expression turned colder. "While you certainly put on a good show, Monster... you _did_ cheat. You were told you could use two weapons yet you used three, and that stunt left one of my best gladiators dead."

"I thought that was the point o' the game," Minerva growled.

"It is," Nire said. "But there is a certain... honor, that must be held in the arena. Many beasts bet and gamble their hard earned wages on fighters they like, so they hold trust in me to ensure each battle remains fair. And with that trick of yours against Hammerpaw, let's just say you made a lot of beasts lose a lot of money, and that reflects poorly on me."

Minerva had many things to say about the 'honor' of the arena, but knew to stay quiet. Sullenly, she continued listening as the lynx drilled on.

"Blasio Timberfell, one of my associates, has called for your death. He was hit particularly hard by the results of that match, but I disagreed. I already lost one gladiator, losing two would just be a waste- especially one with so much potential. So, I came up with a different solution."

Minerva's eyes widened. Was he going to hurt Fable?

Seeing her reaction, the lynx seemingly read her mind and chuckled. "No, no. Nothing so drastic," he said, waving away her concerns with a paw. "I have something else in mind... for both of you."

"For both of us?" Minerva repeated.

"Aye," Nire said. "Have you not wondered why Miss Banton is in the cell next to yours?"

Minerva looked towards the stoat, but she said nothing.

"She tried to escape," the lynx explained. "'Komi the Coward, always running' - that's what the letter that came with her said. But, she won't be running anymore. Why? Well, because she'll be chained to you, Monster."

"What!?" both prisoners shouted at once.

"From here on, until I decide otherwise, you two will be chained together by the ankles working as partners."

"Absolutely not!" Minerva shouted. "I'm not workin' chained t' some vermin! Especially not one called the bloody Coward!"

"I am not a coward!" Komi spat at her before rounding on Nire. "And you can't make me fight with some blasted riverdog!"

"I can and I will, unless you'd prefer there be three dead gladiators instead of one." Any warmth in the lynx's voice was gone, and both of them quieted. "The Monster needs a handicap, something to remind her what it's like being at an unfair disadvantage, while you, the Coward, need something to keep you from running. And why pay guards to keep an eye on you when the Monster can do it for me for free? I'm sure she won't let you think twice about running- seeing as she'd be forced to go with you if you did, and well..." Nire trailed off for a moment, looking towards the otterwife, "I don't think she'd do that. Would you?"

"No," Minerva answered.

"Then it's settled. The Monster gets a handicap, and the Coward a guard. A perfect solution."

"And what's gonna stop her from shovin' a blade through my gullet?" Minerva argued.

"Or slitting my throat with that hook of hers?" Komi said.

"Like I said, you will be chained until I say otherwise. So, if you wish to kill each other, by all means, go right ahead. Just keep in mind, from then on you'll be dragging around a corpse everywhere you go. The same applies if either of you fall in the arena," Nire answered. "So, play nice, because, from what I hear, it's easier to survive tugging against a beast you hate than it is dragging around their carcass. Sleep well, tomorrow training begins for the both of you."

Nire turned to leave then and beckoned for Nix to follow, but, before the lynx could take a step down the hall, Minerva called out to him. "Nire, wait!"

"Hrm?" The beast turned his gaze towards her. "Is there something you need?"

The otterwife kept her demand simple. "I want t' see my daughter," Minerva said. "I may've cheated, aye, but I still gave ye everythin' ye wanted from me. I gave ye a show. Beasts chanted my name. I even tried t' give ye a story t' sell. I want t' see my daughter."

The lynx pressed a claw to his chin in contemplation before turning to Nix. With a sly smile, he asked her, "Commander, why don't you tell the Monster here what happens to beasts who _don't_ do as I ask?"

Nix gave him a look before answering simply. "They're punished."

"Aye. And those that do?"

"Rewarded."

"Indeed," Nire said. "Fetch the cub for her, Nix. She can have five minutes."

"Thank you," Minerva said.

"Keep up the good work," Nire replied with a smirk. "I expect your next show to be even better." Without another word, the two beasts departed back down the corridors.

They were gone for only a few moments before both Minerva and Komi looked back towards one another. They stared in silence for only a moment before grabbing at their ends of the chain once more.

"I'm not working with some woodlander!" Komi yelled, pulling hard.

"Ye think I'm happy about this?" Minerva said, regaining her footing.

"Just stay out of my way."

"Said the Coward t' the Monster," Minerva spat. "Try not t' trip over the chain when ye run with yer tail tucked between yer legs."

"Don't worry, if I ever decide to do that, I'll be sure to bring you down with me," Komi sneered sarcastically.

"Like Hell."

They continued struggling until the both of them were exhausted, panting heavily as they glared daggers at one another. Footsteps echoed down the tunnel, and Minerva looked to see Nix leading an otter cub by the paw towards the cell.

"Mummy!" the young otter bawled, breaking from the marten's grip and scrambling towards the bars.

"Fable!" Minerva called to her. The otterwife nearly cried as she turned towards the bars and rushed to meet her child, but only made it halfway before her leg snagged on the chain. The otterwife stretched and reached for the bars, but couldn't touch them, and, with a look of horror, slowly turned to meet Komi's cold stare as she gripped her end of the chain.

"Please. It's my daughter," Minerva begged as the young otter continued wailing for her.

The stoat's glare subsided as she looked away from Minerva to the young child by the bars. She looked away after only a moment with a glisten in her eye. Without a word, Komi let go of the chain and stepped as close as she could to the grate.

Minerva hesitated, looking towards her for another moment before remembering how limited her time was. Quickly she turned, the chain rattling behind her as she ran to the bars where Fable waited. Putting her arms through the gaps, she pulled the young otter as close to her as she possibly could.

"Fable, I'm so happy ye're safe," Minerva said, her eyes beginning to water.

"Mummy!" Fable cried, tiny paws grabbing at her through the bars.

Minerva stroked the young one's head as she cried, remembering the long list of questions she prepared for her daughter.

"Are ye alright? Has anybeast hurt ye?" she asked, twisting the cub side to side to inspect every inch of her.

The young otter shook her head.

"What about that?" Minerva asked, pointing to a scratch on the young one's knee.

Fable looked at it, blinking as she tried to remember. "I was playin' wid Verna and I fell I think," she answered after a pause.

"Verna? Who's that?" Is it another young 'un yer age? What kind of beast is she?"

Fable nodded. "A hedge'og."

Minerva grimaced. There were other children in the Crater. Her heart sank then, not knowing how many of their parents could have been killed during the Culling. "And what other beasts are with ye? Do ye have a beast takin' care of ye?"

Her daughter nodded once more. "Uh-huh. Mister Marik. He's gotta funny back."

"Fable, that ain't very nice t' say," Minerva scolded. At an apologetic look from the young otter, she stroked her head tenderly. "It's alright, it's alright. What kind o' beast is he? Do ye know?"

Nix raised a brow as Fable turned and pointed towards her. Minerva couldn't help her darkened gaze as she looked towards the pine marten. "Ye've got a vermin lookin' after my daughter?"

Nix's expression hardened. "That _vermin_ is likely the only beast in here with the heart to be willing to. If it wasn't for him offering to take charge of those children and keep them out of the way, Nire would have likely just thrown them in cells and forgotten about them."

Minerva studied the nearly-fuming pine marten, wondering why she had been so defensive. An answer came to her head but the otterwife didn't let it leave her lips. She had too little time to spend it questioning the slaver. She turned back to Fable. "Is he a nice beast?"

Fable nodded without hesitation. They waited in silence for only a moment as her daughter ran her paw against the bars. "Why are ye in dere, Mummy?"

"It's a long story, sweetheart. Not one meant fer ears so young. So, let's talk about somethin' else." Minerva paused and looked towards Nix, who stood idly by seemingly unconcerned with either of them. The marten's ears were perked though. She was listening, and the otterwife wondered if Nire instructed her to tell him what was said. Regardless, the question Minerva had for her daughter burned in her throat and she whispered it as quietly as she could. "Why don't ye tell me more about where ye are?"

Nix cocked a brow but otherwise had no response.

Minerva braved another question for her daughter. "Did it take long fer ye t' get here?"

Fable nodded. "We had d' go down a lodda stairs."

Minerva smiled. "Stairs? And how many sets o' stairs did ye have t' go down?"

"Four."

The top floors of the Crater then. That was where she was being kept.

"Time's up," Nix said, stepping forward. "I gave you more than five minutes. I have to get her back now or Nire will start getting suspicious."

Minerva looked up at the marten pleadingly. "Please, not yet."

Nix hesitated. "One more minute. Say your goodbyes."

"Mummy, I don't wanna go. I wanna go home," Fable said.

Minerva grimaced as the young one tugged at the collar she was forced to put on her. "I know ye do, sweetheart, but we can't just yet. We will though, I promise. And we'll go back t' swimmin' in the stream and pickin' blackberries, just as we used to."

Minerva felt tears begin to spill down her cheeks as she pulled her daughter into another embrace.

"Ye're so brave, did ye know that? Last I checked, ye're still scared o' the dark, but ye still came down all these tunnels t' see me. Stay brave, okay? When ye have nightmares, it's gotta be you who tells yerself that they're not real. When ye trip and fall, it's gotta be you who dries yer tears. 'Cause... I'm not gonna be able to."

Her daughter merely nodded.

Minerva remembered then what Nire said about the sigils and banners. Taking her fishhook in her paw, she held it up for her daughter to see. "Ye know what this is, right?"

Fable nodded. "Daddy's hook."

"Aye, yer daddy's favorite fishhook. Ye know how I like t' wear it? Well, soon, I think a lot of other beasts will be wearin' it too. And it won't just be beasts. It'll be the walls, banners, tapestries, fliers. Everythin' will have a hook on it."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I wish I knew why. But, I think it's gonna happen, so, whenever ye see those hooks, I want ye t' remember that..." Minerva glared at Nix as the marten stepped forward. "...I'm comin' t' save ye."

Minerva pulled Fable as tight as she could against the bars, the young one's paws holding desperately to her. Her daughter pressed something into her paw then, smiling cheekily behind her tears. "Yer turn," she said.

Minerva clutched the needle and flower stitching tight in her paw as Nix took hold of Fable's and pulled her from the bars. "Marik will keep her safe," the marteness said. "Worry about yourself now. You have a part to play, Monster."

Fable wailed as Nix led her away back down the corridor. "I love you!" Minerva called desperately before she was lost to sight. "I'm gonna find ye. I'm gonna save ye, I promise!"

Then she was gone.

Minerva stood there, hanging on to the bars for support lest she fall to her knees to weep. A quick look at her paw revealed that Fable had finished their stitching of the lily. The otterwife had given her daughter her reminder, and now she had one of her own.

Without a word, she took the needle and the leftover thread, and began to sew it to her lapel.

"How old is she?"

Minerva looked up with a start, remembering Komi's presence. The stoat still stood by the grate, her back turned.

"Five," Minerva answered. She stepped away from the bars.

With the slack returned, Komi stepped from the grate and took a seat in the center of her cell. Minerva looked at the floor. In their struggle against one another, neither had noticed that it was just as smooth as the mossy wall was. Minerva followed the stoat's example and took a seat upon it.

"And her father?"

"Gone," she said, caressing the fishhook with her paw.

They were silent after that. Neither reached for the chain or struggled. Instead they merely sat and waited.


	27. Beasts of Burden

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Beasts of Burden**

 _By: Aldridge_

* * *

Aldridge walked through the entrance of the infirmary, into Hell itself.

The stench of deep wounds, bile, viscera. The whimpers and howls of the beasts who were somehow still alive. Blood everywhere. At least three deliberately-severed limbs on the floor between beds.

Aera stepped back from a delirious beast - a mole, weeping and shuddering. As she swept toward Aldridge, two other beasts moved in. An unknown squirrel, with a bottle of near-black whiskey no doubt chosen to numb the mind and the wound as quickly as possible. Ulrich, with a bonesaw.

"What happened to her?"

Adeen's ears flickered.

"Severely beaten. There was broken earthenware all around them wh-"

"Glazed or dull?"

"Glazed. On the floor, shards, not dust."

Aera gestured down. Aldridge kneeled, and the mouse medic began picking through Adeen's fur around each bleeding spot, looking for pieces of fired crockery. The vole flinched once or twice when Aera came close to her eyes. Aera's claws stopped, and she pulled one shard the size of a small thorn out of Adeen's cheek. She examined that particular wound more closely, gave the last two a quick look, then stepped back and nodded.

"Nothing else there, she'll be all right. You'll have to clean and patch, we have five more beasts who'll reach Dark Forest's gates by sunrise if we don't tend them now. Remember to check her over for breaks and bruises. Milgram! A patch-kit for Alder, then determine the otter's wounds and give him a sedative! Alder, take her into the long-term alcove. You'll be under our feet otherwise. And when you're done, she's to stay there overnight."

Milgram Tevar, the vole with forearms long since bleached in spatters, perked at the sound of his name. He ducked under a bed and came up with a small bundle of folded hessian. As Aera swept to her next patient, the Apprentice Apothecary trotted over to Aldridge, tucked the bundle under his arm, and turned away.

Aldridge pushed aside the dark grey curtain that marked the long-term alcove, stepped inside, and sat Adeen on the edge of the next bed along from the sleeping Cricken. He detached a small metal flask from his belt, and offered it to the vole. "Whiskey? A sip'll take the edge off the pain."

She took the flask, hesitated. "Will it?"

He nodded. "And much more, I suspect."

She unscrewed the lid, took a sniff, took a sip, winced, screwed the lid back on and set it on the table. "I'd rather the pain, thank you."

He nodded and kept eye contact with her, watching for signs of pain as he unfastened her cloak's hasp and pushed it from her shoulders, as he found the buckle on her bandolier and pulled it slowly from her small frame.

Adeen adjusted herself, sitting up against the end of the bed as Aldridge folded her cloak and the bandolier and placed them at the other end, where a taller beast's feet might otherwise be.

He pulled apart the hessian package. A vial of clear liquid, bundles of cotton swabs and bandages, a small ceramic pot of cooling salve. Aera's usual efficiency.

He unstoppered the vial, tipped it for a moment against a cotton swab, and began cleaning Adeen's wounds. She hissed at the first touch, but eased into the process. It wasn't long before she was accustomed enough to speak.

"The mortuary. You came to see them?"

Aldridge let his eyes fall closed for a moment, a smile and a breath escaping him. "Aye. Tanra and Envar."

"The Crater will remember them. Prowler Envar. Tanra the Terror. Mossflower's finest. Small places, in the Hall of the Great."

Aldridge stopped for a moment. Gathered himself, forced his breath back into regiment, but could not quite will his eyes dry.

"Thank you."

He cleaned the last of her cuts, then helped her out of her vest. She shuffled forward and lay flat carefully as he took a scrap of paper and a piece of charcoal from the small table beside the bed, and jotted the word 'Adeen' at the top.

"I'm going to test each of your ribs in turn. For each one, please say _'sharp', 'blunt', or 'no'_ depending on whether it hurts, and what the pain feels like." Aldridge recited Medic Aera's usual words with ease.

She nodded.

One sharp, five blunts and sixteen nos later, Aldridge had a good idea of just how hard the vole had been beaten.

He put the scrap of paper back on the table and took the pot of salve from Aera's patch-kit. Returned to Adeen's most damaged ribs, daubed the cool gel on her, working against the flow of her fur and onto her skin proper.

What else, what else...

"Ah. Any loose teeth, or difficulty moving your jaw?"

She moved her mouth a little, then raised a paw to the side she'd been struck on. Of course - a heavy blow, bruising, restricted movement.

It was the work of a few moments to apply a little gel to her jaw. A few more moments, and the patch-kit was in two small piles on the table - used, and unused.

A rasping breath from the next bed. Aldridge turned to greet Cricken, and his heart stopped.

Grey eyes looked at him from a gaunt, wasted face, sitting atop an assemblage of bones covered loosely by a patchwork of fur and bandages. Whether it was deliberate, the way the child's eyes lanced directly into Aldridge's, or mere happenstance, he could not be sure.

He reached for the flask and took a bolt of courage as Ulrich's words roared through his head.

 _"...and now he's broken and there's nothing that any of us can do about it, save Aera."_

"Hello, Alder. They said I was eating myself." A dry, rough laugh from a throat that had long since screamed itself raw. "I said, this isn't a story! I'm not some cannibal, I'm not from Gulo's Horde!"

His love for books was still there, then.

"No," Aldridge said, finally mustering the strength to smile. "You're no fox, nor ermine."

"That's what I said." The laugh again, like the puff of a broken bellows. This time something caught, and Cricken's body was wracked with a coughing fit. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth and Aldridge had no doubt that the squirrel couldn't even tell it was there.

"How did it go again…"

A low sound from the squirrel's throat. He was… trying to sing, or to hum at least. Aldridge leaned in and listened, a terrible certainty descending on him as he remembered the song that the beasts of the Barrow had sung on that first feast night, that had told him he would eventually call this place home. The song that railed against a world built on violence.

Aldridge joined in. He did not try to restrain the tears.

 _"Balm for the graver, balm for the slaver,_ _  
_ _Balm for every beast who makes a copper off the trader,_ _  
_ _Food on the plate of the beasts who live on hate,_ _  
_ _And never any vittles for the beasts with quieter fates."_

And in the space between verses, Cricken's eyes closed a little further.  
And Aldridge bellowed, with voice cracked down the middle. "Aera! Ulrich! Now!"

" _O! Juskabor! Whither do you wander?_ \- The mice pushed in through the curtain.  
 _Down to the battlefield! Tear them all asunder!_ \- Ulrich let out a sob, Aera rushed to the bed.  
 _O! Juskabor! Do as I command you!_ \- Aera joined in the song, taking Cricken's paw in her own.  
 _I spoke to you from birth and I will be there when you founder."_

A moment of silence. The child's death rattle, cutting the room apart.

Aldridge sat back, unable to stop the tears. A paw rested on his left shoulder, and he looked across to Ulrich, who had a few tears of his own. One on his right shoulder, and he looked across to Adeen, who wore something more like saddened outrage.

Aera waited a moment, then folded Cricken's arms over his chest, folded the white sheets over him, stood back.

"I'm sorry," She said to them all. "We don't have the time to mourn him now. Four beasts left to pull from the brink. Ulrich, there are no more amputations as best as I can tell. Go to bed." And she stormed out, pawsteps even heavier than usual.

"Alder." Ulrich, who had fought away the tears. "This seems like the right time to show you something."

Aldridge nodded, and turned back to Adeen. "Will you be all right?"

The vole nodded as she settled herself back into the bedsheets. He supposed she had spent long enough around the dead that this would not be all that strange to her.

He gave her a nod, and left with Ulrich.

Tunnels and corners dissipated around them, melting away in memories of the recently-dead.

A left and a straight... and the sound of Young Cricken and Young Aera fighting with sticks in the town square.

A right and a left... and Tanra's laughter when she brought home her first salmon, caught in the streams on the slopes of the mountain a day's travel to the east.

A straight and a right... and the roughness of Envar's voice as he reported a lone ferret slaver on the edge of Barrow grounds.

Aldridge followed Ulrich through this fog of memories into a room full of cogs and cobwebs. He shuddered, but carried on as Ulrich lifted a hinged workbench section out of the way and walked through another door.

And the dust was gone.

A large square room, almost empty. A low-slung table in one corner, with a few rags and woodworking tools on it.

"The machine in the other room. We're not sure what it was, but we know that it's broken, and that the beasts who kept it working are long since dead. This was a dedicated store room - no other entrances or exits. So we cleaned it out and we hope to use it for ourselves."

The far wall. Five carved patterns so far. Aldridge strode up to them with purpose, placed his paw on Hunter Tanra's Mark. Carved carefully and painted with tar rather than burned into place, but still. This was the Mark Wall. He ran his eye over the others, dotted around the wall in no specific place. Ulrich, Aera, Ennis and Tevar.

Ulrich handed him one of the small chisels from the table, and held the other. "Add Cricken's mark," he said. "I'll take Envar's."

They worked in silence. Cricken's Mark took shape in the wood-plated wall. A crossroad, four squares for buildings, and a dashed line in a circle around them. And then Cricken's own flourish on the standard Patrolbeast's Mark - the canopies of trees, encroaching onto the dashed pawstep-line.

He and Ulrich were done at almost the same time.

Ulrich passed him the pot of tar and a small brush. "I'll leave this for you. My paws are spent for today."

Aldridge carefully applied the tar to all of the fresh-carved lines. Envar's Mark was simpler: no canopies at the edges to ink, only a pair of crossed swords at the centre of the crossroads.

Ulrich sat against the wall, stared into space as Aldridge finished the work.

"You got lucky," he said.

Aldridge paused. "Hmm?"

"Nix, the captain of the slave train. She's requested Droven's company multiple times - even commissioned a harolina, if you can believe it. Gates only know what that's going to sound like in a place with acoustics like this."

"Aye?" The pawstep-lines were the trickiest; Aldridge kept a steady paw as he worked. He trusted Ulrich to get to the point.

"Droven's heard her talking, a few times now. Turns out, the only reason there were six wagons on that train was because they already knew about us."

A wave of ice, down Aldridge's back. "Oh, Hellgates..."

"Aye. You got lucky, Alder. Because if the arrow you stuck in that Jossia were the only reason they'd attacked..."

He tried to apply the last few dashes, but his own paw was shaking too much. He sat beside Ulrich, brush and pot in one paw and flask in the other. He took a bolt to ease himself, and let out a long breath. "One gamble away from all of this being my fault."

"Aye. And that's not the only gamble you've made recently, is it?"

Aldridge flinched, knowing what was coming next.

"Provoking the lynx. Shouting out for your missus when she woke up crying. Aye, not your missus, tell me another. Attacking a trainer, with a damn spoon. What in Hellgates' name were you thinking?"

He let himself sag. "I wasn't."

"No, I don't suppose you were." Ulrich glared at the opposite wall, then at Aldridge. "Did you think we hadn't noticed? Every evening spent in a tankard. Every day spent in a haze. Do I need to remind you of when we first found you?"

"I..." Aldridge stopped himself, tamped down on the irritation, met Ulrich's gaze. "I remember. Trading repairs and fletchwork for the next flagon of ale, living out of a bedroll in a torn tent in the woods. Two whole seasons burned that way, until Aera slapped me out of it."

"Well, Aera's busy. You'll have to settle for me this time."

Despite himself, Aldridge smirked. "Not nearly as frightening."

"That's as maybe," Ulrich said, his glare easing. "But if I see you at the bottom of a tankard again, I'll have your Apprentice hide your pay."

Aldridge placed the flask in Ulrich's outstretched paw. "Understood."

They sat, until Aldridge's paws had calmed down. He put the last few touches on Envar's Mark, returned the pot and brush to the table, helped Ulrich to his feet.

"I'll bring Young Aera tomorrow. We'll carve our Marks then."

Ulrich nodded, and then companionable silence.

They parted ways at the entrance to the Drag. Ulrich to bed, and Aldridge to his workshop.

Sleep had been difficult enough, recently. After tonight's events, he knew he wouldn't see it for a while yet.

There was a shape in the shadows, opposite the workshop. It was... snoring?

Aldridge looked more closely. The bat Kali, leaning against the wall, holding her broken lute close. _No collar_ , he realised, and all of a sudden the existence of his own was much harder to ignore.

He leaned in, placed his paw on her shoulder, and shook her gently.

She let out a little huff, tightened her wings around the lute. "Mine."

He shook her a little harder. Her eyes opened blearily. She looked up at him, squeaked in surprise and lurched backward, thumping her head into the wall.

"Ow ow owww..."

"I'll say. Are you all right? What brings you here at this time of night?"

She raised a wing to the back of her head, rubbed gently, looked up at him. "Hi Aldy! We got interrupted, huh?"

"We did, aye. The Culling." He helped her upright.

"Yes... yes, that. Um, I realised that I still had hold of this. And, I did hear you as I was running away! But I was late, and you know how it is. So I was hoping that you could take it, and speak to the Droven beastie you mentioned, and maybe get it fixed for me?" She gave him what looked like her attempt at a winning smile.

"I think I can do that, yes." Aldridge opened his workshop door, and held it open for Kali. "Luthier Droven usually stops by here on her way to the woodshop. I'll not be sleeping tonight, I wager, so I'll have her take a look tomorrow morning. How's that for you?"

"Sounds good to me!"

Aldridge gave her a smile, but couldn't force it to reach his eyes.

"Um... Are you all right?" Kali looked worried, embarrassed. "I just... I'm trying to notice these things more. And you... look pretty beat up, ifyoudon'ttmindmesayingso..."

"Thank you." Another beast, concerned for him. His eyes prickled again. He disguised it with a chuckle, and by raising head as though he were looking at the sky. "Kali. Would you sing for me?"

She _squeaked_. "I... what?"

"You sang for me, when we faced that creature. And just then, it was exactly what I needed. So I wonder if you know any songs about happier places. The kinds of happier places that beasts go to, when they die."

"I, um... are you sure?"

He did not know the look on her face; his face was upturned and his eyes were closed. But he could imagine the doubt. "I am sure."

"Well then. A death song, a happy death song... Ah!"

A moment of quiet.

Her voice, a chaos of sound biting into his ears. And yet, between the unearthly harmonics, it was the voice of a beast speaking a truth, telling a story, comforting a lost soul.

 _"The day I die, when on my way_ _  
_ _toward the grave, don't weep. Don't say,_

 _She's gone! She's gone. Dead is not gone._ _  
_ _Sun and moon set but both come home._

 _The tomb door is the gate, you see_ _  
_ _Whether you are trapped or free_

 _I could tell you; you would not heed._ _  
_ _For now I've died I am a seed_

 _Mouth closed in dust and opened, see_ _  
_ _In new-grown unimagined beauty."_

"Thank you." His voice came out hoarse, rough. He didn't much care. "Three of my friends have died in the last couple of hours. I helped one sing his way, but the other two..." He finally opened his eyes and looked at her, smiling as he shed more tears.

"I get it. I don't know why you asked _me_... but I get it. And I suppose it's just lucky that you didn't lose a fourth!"

Aldridge blinked, wiped the tears from his eyes. "Beg pardon?"

"Oh, the, um... the escape attempt? Everyone's talking about it. They said it was a stoat, a female one. And I thought you must know her! But that's just me assuming that all the sla - er, prisoners know each other." Kali looked worried again.

Aldridge shook his head. "Not to worry. I think I do know her. And if she tried to escape, then I suppose I'm off to see her right now." He stowed the lute away on a low shelf, threw a scrap of canvas over it, then left the workshop, chivvying the bat out too.

He locked the door, then stopped. "Where did you say they put her?"

"I, ah... I didn't." Kali chuckled. "But I heard them say Punishment Cages a lot. I'm guessing that's not a good thing?"

Aldridge tilted his head. "Maybe, maybe not. The solitary cells are down that way, but the tunnel went on a lot further. Now, where are you going?"

"Oh, I'll be going to bed now. But thank you!"

"That's quite all right." An exchange of smiles, and then the bat flapped off in a puff of dust.

The tunnels disappeared behind him as they always did. He kept track of his heartbeats, remembered pounding the streets of Madder Barrow, compared the times. The entryway to the left - that would have been the bakery, Maudry covered in flour and grinning as she offered out scones in her thick molespeech. The slightly wider tunnel between the Underbelly proper and the Cages, that would have been the Trade Road. On most days, the Trade Road had been nothing more than a few food stalls for the population to feed themselves - but Caravan Days were when it shone. The whole road, abustle with the beasts of the village and beasts in to trade from afar. Herbs, spices, foodstuffs, construction materials big and small, pottery, woodwork, instruments, all changing paw in barter or in exchange for the new metal coins that were spreading across the land.

But that wasn't here.

Stale air wafted up from the tunnel that housed the Punishment Cages, and a pair of guards eyed him balefully.

He reached for his flask, remembered it was gone. Gathered himself, and threw on a grin. "Evening, gents. I heard about the escape attempt and I have the horrible feeling that my missus has gone and done something... foolish. I wondered if I might see her."

"Another stoa', aye?" The shorter guard, a heavyset rat with very little gut, rumbled out. He looked at Aldridge for a moment, then nodded. "She's 'ere. What d'yew wan' wiv'er?"

"We charge more for conjugal visits." A shrill voice escaped the second rat's throat as he stared fixedly over Aldridge's shoulder into the middle distance.

Ah, so that was the way of things. Aldridge made a show of reaching for his coin-pouch.

The bigger rat grinned. "Aye. Now see, yew's a slave outta quarters after dark. An'afore yew says 'Ah, but the Culling has just happened and the medics are allowed out'," A passable impression, Aldridge conceded, "Well, yew ain't got no medic's mark on yer collar."

"Indeed. And if you've no medic's mark, then curfew still very much applies to you." Nasal, but well-spoken.

"So 'ere's the breaks. Yew gives us nuffin', an' we takes yew an' chucks yew in th'firs' open cell. A couple'a coppers each an'we doesn't repor' yew 'til shif' changes in th'witchin'our. Five, an' we doesn't repor' yew a'all. A silver, an' Teggy 'ere takes 'is keys an' gives yew ten minutes in yer cell o'choice. An' if yew does go conjergaw-"

"Conjugal, Alf. Conjugal."

"Aye. Tha'. If yew does tha', all rate's're doubled."

It didn't take much deliberation.

"Deal," Aldridge said, and held out a silver piece for each of them. They were his last two, but no matter. Nire either didn't understand budgeting or was very deliberately paying Aldridge enough to keep him in drink, because the actual cost of resupplying the workshop when needed was far less than the money he'd actually been given.

The burly rat snatched his coin with a grin; the tall, nasal one took his with more care.

"There's a good lad, knows woss good fer 'im. Now off y'go, I ain't seen nuffin'." He winked, or tried to, and Aldridge gave him a nod as 'Teggy' pushed himself away from the wall.

"Come along, then." A piercing voice, but not entirely unwelcome right now. It reminded him of Kali's singing, and how she had shown no fear at all in the eyes of the abomination in the dark.

"I do apologise for Alf - he simply refuses to take the elocution lessons I keep recommending to him."

"Not to worry," Aldridge chuckled. "An accent matters nothing when the racket is good. Ask any mole."

'Teggy' sniffed. "We're rats, sir. The rules of woodlanders don't apply."

"Ah, I suppose not. My apologies."

He met Teggy's gaze with sincerity, and the rat nodded. "No matter, no matter. Now, if I remember correctly, your stoat lady-friend is in the first of the more novel cells, just about... here."

And there she was, sitting in the middle of the cage, eyes piercing Aldridge and the rat, a chain leading from one of her footpaws to a grille in the wall.

Aldridge nodded. "Thank you, Teggy."

"Ah. No, I'm afraid that's Alfie's dislike of syllables showing though. The name's Tegue." And he unlocked the gate. "In you go sir, and remember - ten minutes, no more."

Aldridge ducked in under the rat's arm and was promptly skewered on Komi's hard stare.

He sat in front of her.

"Hello", he said.

She stewed for a moment, and then "Hello."

Aldridge chuckled. "I didn't quite believe it when I found out. Who would have thought, you'd be the first of us to try and run?"

She bristled. "I've been running since Redwall. Everything was dashed away on those walls."

"But I'm here now, Komi." Time and memory and everything they'd seen together, flowing through his thoughts like water returning to an abandoned riverbed.

"...stop talking like that. She'll hear." Komi looked down the length of the chain. Aldridge leaned forward, and saw the Monster of Mossflower Woods at the other end of it.

"...I couldn't care what you two vermin've got t' say t'each other. Just keep it down so I kin bloody sleep."

He nodded, and Komi scowled.

"Three Barrow beasts died today. It would have been more, had most of them not been more useful to Nire elsewhere. And you... you were nearly lost as well."

"So?" The scowl remained. "That was my choice."

"But would it have been the case, if you were at peace?"

Silence.

"It's clear to me now that this place will take everything we have to survive. We have to be at peace, no matter what, and do whatever it takes to make it through this. We can't afford to lose time and thought on what happened, all those seasons ago."

And her voice cracked. That same furious, half-whispered scream from the slave pits, so many nights ago. "You don't know the half of what happened 'all those seasons ago'! You weren't there!"

He let out a breath. "No. I wasn't, was I? But what I do know is this. You were the hordemaster's favourite, and I wasn't. You saw an old friend on course for greatness, a beast who might one day make the world right. I saw a beast who had nothing to stop him from reaching too far and burning himself, and taking every other with him. And I... I tried to leave three times, you know? Three times I was ready, and I came to your tent and you weren't there. Twice, I went back to the armory tent and unpacked everything and woke up the next morning pretending that everything was normal. The third time... I couldn't. I'm sorry. But... this has all been and gone, and here we are, and this is a chance to get everything out of our systems, to work out all the kinks and devote ourselves at least to surviving this hellhole instead of living all knotted-up in the past, and being destroyed for it!"

Her breath had stopped at some point. Her eyes shimmered in the torchlight, masked inexpertly with another scowl. She had never been very good at hiding how she felt.

"Damn you," she said. "You expect me to behave like nothing happened?"

"Not at all." Old teachings sprung up again in his mind. "Just... imagine thirty seasons' time, when we're too old to walk straight any more and we spend all our time in comfortable chairs by a fire and all of this is the concern of who you used to be. Imagine that you could get up and walk away and all of this was just a story you were telling to a child, the way oldsters do."

"Well I can't get up and walk away, can I? Or had you forgotten about this blasted otter I'm chained to?"

The Monster's voice, irate. "Aye? I'll give ye 'blasted otter', ye _blasted stoat_."

Komi jolted as the otter yanked on the chain, hard.

"Time, sir." Tegue's voice. Aldridge had nearly forgotten about him.

He allowed himself an impulse. As he rose, he leaned forward and placed his muzzle to Komi's forehead. "Just think about what I've said, all right? And when you can... tell me everything. Please."

He left, but couldn't help looking back into the cell at Komi Banton. She hadn't moved.

Tegue locked the gate, walked him back up to mouth of the tunnel, and sent him on his way.


	28. All the Ghouls Come Out to Play

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **All the Ghouls Come Out to Play**

 _By: Kentrith_

* * *

Nire smiling was never a comforting sight.

Kentrith stood before the desk, his fur growing damp with nerves. He clasped trembling paws behind his back and cursed himself. _I shouldn't have told Marik, should have kept my mouth shut, if only…_

"So, you have a friend," Nire practically purred, and Kentrith froze. Nire nodded behind Kentrith, who turned and saw the fleabitten ferrets he had caught near the nursery. He glared at them. They sneered back, more than happy to cause trouble for him. Just because he had caught them doing something they shouldn't! The smug looks on their muzzles changed to fear when Nire rumbled, "For trespassing, these two will be feeding the monsters." At their squeaks, he smiled widely. "Feeding them slops, of course." His fangs gleamed in the sunlight. "For now."

He waved a paw to dismiss them, and they scurried out, clutching at each other's ragged clothes. Kentrith watched them go, his muzzle curled in derision. A huff from Nire brought his attention back around. The lynx flopped down the papers he was holding, and leaned on his desk, his claws steepled before his face. "I find it interesting that you have befriended a slave," he continued, his voice smooth and controlled. "She is quite talented, it's true, but to have her _with you_ in the wing of suites, well…" Those sharp eyes bore into Kentrith, who tried not to gulp. A chuckle put him even more on edge. "I'm inclined to have her punished for it…"

A tense moment passed with Kentrith using all his might to keep from showing emotion. Nire suddenly dropped back in his chair, crossing his footpaws under the table. "Probably not, though," the cat continued, looking disinterestedly out the window. Kentrith knew it was a ruse. Glancing at Kentrith out of the corner of his eye, he added, "That beating she had earlier was most likely sufficient."

Kentrith didn't move. He tried to breathe evenly, his fur prickling. Adeen had been beaten? Had Nire ordered it, or was it somebeast else? Had it been his fault?

Nire's sigh showed his dissatisfaction with Kentrith s lack of reaction, and he continued in a disgruntled tone, "You, however, need to have a lesson." A mischievous glint returned to his eye. "I want you to visit the lounge."

Kentrith couldn't stop the sudden intake of breath, and he closed his eyes and groaned. He could hear the smug tone in Nire's voice as he purred, "Yes, one night should do very well." Kentrith heard him rise from the chair, and he opened his eyes in time to see the claws descending toward him. Nire patted him on the shoulder in false sympathy. "Who knows, you might even learn to like it."

Kentrith refrained from scowling at his boss. His five years as a fighter had never softened him to the toadying masses who paid to rub shoulders with the champions. Nire could probably have picked a worse punishment, but Kentrith couldn't think of one at the moment.

"May I go?" he ground out. Let Nire hear his anger. He would get his just desserts soon enough. Let him think that he had beaten Kentrith.

"Ah, yes, of course. You need to get back to training, don't you?" Nire actually moved to the door and opened it for him. Kentrith paused, then stalked out the door, ready to escape, when Nire's next words raised the fur on his back. "Keep an eye on that vole of yours. Those who get close to you tend to get hurt."

The veiled reference to Hargorn made Kentrith twitch, but he continued walking, hoping that Nire hadn't noticed. He made it to the Drag before he collapsed against the wall, his shaking legs threatening to crumple. He breathed deeply, trying to calm the panic that rose up his throat.

 _He only suspects Adeen. He doesn't know about Redwall, he doesn't know about your plans. He doesn't know about Marik._

As his pounding heart slowed, his darkness rose up, whispering to him. _If he doesn't know now, it won't be long. He already is suspicious. If he finds out…_

Kentrith's breath expanded in the back of his throat as it closed off. _He could kill Marik._

His head popped up, oxygen flooding his lungs as his fighting instinct rose. He would just have to accelerate his plans, that was all.

* * *

Northvale was busy as ever, bustling with beasts eager to see the sights. That was all they ever wanted, no matter if the sights were exotic trinkets brought from upriver, or blood spilt on coarse sands. Kentrith grimaced, then plunged into the throng, waving at the guards as he passed them. He aimed for the area of town where the street vendors stayed. He needed to see a certain beast, one who might give him valuable help, and had possibly helped him in the past.

Unfortunately, the herb shop had closed.

A voice hailing him brought his head around, and he noticed Harbin beckoning him to his store. "Look!" the rat exclaimed. He waved a leather vest as Kentrith came near, a crane scored into it. The outspread wings echoed Kentrith's pose at the end of his fight with Direbeast. It was that very pose that had given him his name, coupled with his cry. It was one he had uttered many times over his work in the ring.

Kentrith tried not to wince, and looked the vest over. "It's masterfully done, Harbin."

"I thought so," Harbin grinned. "They have a new method to etch images and words into wood and leather. It's almost like branding! You heat the metal, then press it into the medium to leave a lovely burn pattern." His pride oozed from every word. Kentrith struggled to keep the bile in his throat. _Branding! Don't give Nire any ideas!_ The thought of what a brand could do…

Coughing a little to clear his throat, he managed, "Fascinating. I shall look forward to more such… works of art."

Harbin beamed. "Aye, and after the Culling, we've plenty to add to our stock. Did you see the Monster of Mossflower fight Hammerpaw? Glorious, wasn't it?"

"Of course," was all Kentrith could reply. He hadn't, but he added, "Quite a spectacle. I'm sure we'll see more such spirit from her."

"Without the cheating, naturally," Harbin chuckled.

"Naturally."

"And that big rat! Kraken, they called him. I'm thinkin' a squid in the background, with those tentacly things. An' his partner, the rabbit with the huge sword! They took down the weasel brothers t'gether, easy as you please. Good bunch, the lot of 'em!"

Kentrith nodded in bewilderment, then desperately changed the subject. "Harbin, I've run out of some herbs. I'm not as young as I used to be, and some of my wounds," He rubbed his ear ruefully, "well, they ache more as I get older."

Harbin nodded sagely. "Age catches up with the best of us."

"Aye," Kentrith murmured, then continued in a louder voice. "I noticed that the herb shop had closed, and a clothier took its place. Do you know where Narvi went?"

The rat shrugged. "No. I heard he had run into some trouble, something about using herbs for spells, or some such. Load of rot, _I_ think, but you know how some beasts can be. He closed up two years ago."

Echoes of "Witch!" tried to break through Kentrith's memory walls, but he clamped it down, declaring hurriedly, "Perhaps the clothes merchant knows. Thank you!"

He turned and took a few quick steps down the street, then forced himself to stop and turn. "Harbin," he called. The rat looked at him. "Let me know first when you get something for the Monster. I want a vest just like that one." He winked, and was answered by a grin. He continued on his way, hoping that his abrupt departure would be overshadowed by the future sale.

The clothes merchant was more helpful, having bought the building directly from Narvi. The herbalist had directed him to send customers to his new shop, which he did only after enticing them to buy some of his wares. Kentrith exited the store with a new headband, "to show off the fighter's ear," _three_ new pairs of trousers, "the state of those you have on are atrocious, and, goodness gracious, your only pair?" and directions to Narvi's new place of business. Looking at the scrap of paper hastily torn from a ledger, he gulped, then directed his steps to the Middens.

The grime seemed to build the farther he walked, and once or twice he noticed a few dirty youths slouch away, making him very glad for the scalpel hidden in his sleeve. He paused a moment in a brighter alleyway to settle his already-regretted purchases over his shoulder and to slip his money pouch down his shirt. He continued further out of the main walkways, and deeper into the boil of Northvale.

He finally reached the new shop, which seemed to be at least relatively clean, and entered it gingerly, glancing around for any danger. A small bell rang pleasantly, and a voice from the back replied, "Oi'll be roight thurr, zurr!"

An involuntary smile tugged at Kentrith's muzzle at the cheery greeting, and the velvety herbalist appeared in a green stained apron.

"Narvi, it's good to see you!" Kentrith said warmly.

The tiny eyes were lost in wrinkles as a wide smile spread across the face. "Boi 'okey, it bain't be true! Owd Kenterit, oi thowt you'm be gonded!"

He reached forward and grasped Kentrith's paw in his heavy digging claw. Kentrith cringed inwardly at the dirt he could feel transferring, but shook the claw anyway. "I've returned recently. There were just certain things I couldn't leave behind here." His half-truth hung in the air, and he dropped the claw, waiting for the kind beast before him to catch it.

Narvi only chuckled. "Oi reckin thurr be lots o' things callin' you'm back. You'm sure it baint moi yarbs?" The eye twinkled.

Kentrith smiled, but it faded quickly. He wasn't sure how to approach his next question, so he took a deep breath, then asked in a rush, "Do you have any willow bark? I'm fresh out." He cursed silently, his courage failing. As the mole cheerily began rummaging for a bottle in the back, Kentrith shuffled to the table that stood in the middle of the shop, and leaned against it.

"It's sad that you had to close up," he commented, tracing the grain on the table. "It's a longer walk to get here. As if I don't get enough exercise!" His poor attempt at a joke fell flat, and he berated himself.

"They'm were thinkin' oi were majickin' moi yarbs, mekkin' beasts grow sick." A sad chuckle followed. "If'n oi were majickin', oi'd make 'em better, not sick."

Kentrith smiled slightly in sympathy. "Aye, my mother had a similar experience. The otter holt she sold herbs to had an epidemic sweep through." The smile disappeared. "You're lucky, you only had to move. They killed her."

"A turrible thing, beasts killin' other beasts."

Kentrith glanced up sharply, but the mole had his back to the shop, digging in a cupboard for something.

Feeling like a madbeast who saw attackers in every corner, he glanced around, noticing a small symbol in the corner, on the wall just over the dingy window. Stepping closer he peered at it.

It was the Crater symbol, one which appeared on all weapons made in the Crater, and on the slave collars. There was a large difference, however. It had a jagged line cracking it down the middle. Underneath were the letters FTN. Frowning, Kentrith reached out to touch it.

A clatter brought him around, and he found Narvi hastily righting the jar of willow bark he had tipped. "Hmm," the mole muttered, "Oi baint as keerful 's oi usen." His claw shook as he swept up the spilled powder.

Breathing deeply, Kentrith strode back to the table. He leaned toward the mole, who seemed to have pulled himself together, then whispered, "I know it was you who gave me the note, all those years ago."

He watched carefully, but there was no twitch or other indicator of guilt. "Whut note be that, zurr?" was the rumbley reply. The heavy digging claws continued assembling his order. Kentrith faltered, suddenly unsure of himself.

"The note? From Dia, the young otter?" Kentrith's voice grew fainter as he continued. "She… tried to kill herself, and I helped her escape…"

He trailed off, as Narvi stared at him with a blank look in his eyes. "Baint be knowin' owt of it," the herbalist said, frowning. "Owny otters I see 'round yurr be owd beasts. Though, theys be plenny dyin' unner the lynxy-cat. " He squinted. "Mebbe you'm thinkin' of summun else?"

He held up a package, a square of cloth tied around the willow. Kentrith took it, ears drooping. "Maybe," he murmured, discouraged. He thanked the old mole, and left, wondering where he could possibly go next.

Kentrith paused outside the shop, bracing himself against the wall. He reached into his pouch and removed a small cloth, keeping it crumpled to hide the words inked into it. He made a move as if to look at it, but after a moment's struggle, he forced himself to keep it out of sight, and shoved it back in the satchel Bothan had filled for him. He had the message etched into his heart, anyway.

 _My garden is beautiful. I planted lilies. Thank you._

The message had been tucked away in the petals of a flower, shortly after she had disappeared. Kentrith had almost dropped the basket of herbs it had arrived in, and his scramble to hide it would have caught anybeast's eye. It had been pure luck that there were no witnesses.

That bit of cloth was his only hint that Dia was completely free, and that Nire hadn't found her. Kentrith had been too absorbed in helping Dia escape to track down the author of the previous note, the one that directed them through the scorpion pit. This cloth had proved that she had been assisted. It also implied that the messenger was known to them.

Now, he couldn't think of where to turn.

* * *

His return to his room was hailed by a grinning ferret. The other creature said nothing, only held up a pile of dark brown cloth. Kentrith groaned, eyeing it askance.

"No use whinin' about it," the ferret sneered. "Yer late as it is. They been waitin' on you fer an hour!"

Kentrith reluctantly took the pile and shook it out. A canvas vest unfolded, with the Crater symbol embroidered over the left breast. The round border and descending lines were stitched in red, overlaid with a bronze shield, a silver spear, and a golden sword. On the right panel of the vest was his own sigil.

 _Naturally,_ Kentrith thought, disgusted. Glaring, he slipped the article on, then slumped away to what would inevitably be the worst night of his life.

His entry into the lounge was hailed by a wave of enthusiastic beasts. The Crater symbol on his vest denoted him as someone of authority. The other was his fighting symbol. Like pike scenting blood, the spectators circled him, clamoring for his attention.

"It's the Crane!"

"Crane, when will you enter the ring again?!"

"Did you see him against that giant badger?"

"I hear he's training the new slaves!"

A brief silence followed this exclamation, then the clamor began again, louder this time.

"How are the new slaves shaping up?"

"Are any as good as you?"

"I think that massive rat would squash you."

"An' that giant sword MacRaff carried! I hear it's a legend!"

"Mebbe he could lop off that other ear to even 'em out, haw haw!"

"What did you think about that fight between the Monster and Hammerpaw?"

"Is the otter clever enough to beat you, ya think?"

"Well," Kentrith sputtered, trying to find one question to answer, "I… that is, yes, I mean no, maybe somebeast could…"

Those clinging to him didn't wait for his confused answers, only continuing to badger him.

"I 'ope the next bunch give a better fight."

"Aye, the Drag'll be emptier t'night."

"Oy, mebbe they kin catch another badger fer you t' slice up!"

It was a full hour before he could escape to the bar. He slid onto a stool and sighed deeply, straightening the disheveled vest and smoothing his headfur. The motion continued over his half-ear and down his neck as he tried to calm down. The smell that wafted from behind the bar teased his nostrils, and he moved to cover his nose, wishing he could hold his breath.

"Kenny, my friend!" came a voice behind him. Grimacing, he squared his shoulders, then turned to find the tiny bookie, Sly, tugging on his vest. The creature grinned up at him. "I hear you're the one who knows all the dirty details about these dirty beasts, so I was wondering...what do you know about this Monster?"

Kentrith frowned. "Enough," he said carefully, wishing somebeast would just give him the details from the Culling. The thought of watching another churned his stomach, but pretending he knew what they were jabbering about was stretching him thin.

"Think she has a shot at being the next champion?"

"How would I know that?" Kentrith barked, slamming a clenched paw on the bar. "I don't know who holds the title at the moment! I'm too busy training these flea-bitten slaves!"

"Easy, easy there, Kent! I understand, dealing with the flea-bitten is stressful indeed." Sly backed down, ducking his head. "I'm only asking for any bit of info you may know. MacGraff is certainly a fine champion and even friend, with the heart of a fighter and the liver of a drunk, but I've been thinking. Why not have multiple champions in my corner? With two good fighters, I can make twice the copper! And that Monster, well, she really made an impression. On all of us!"

"Apparently," Kentrith muttered, turning back to the bar, before remembering why that was a bad idea. He clenched one trembling paw, and wished the night were already over. Sighing, he turned back to the vole. "Honestly," he told him, lowering his voice in hopes it wouldn't carry beyond his companion, "I didn't even see the fight. I was elsewhere, taking care of some urgent business. I have no idea what everyone is talking about."

Sly's eyes brightened with keen calculation, but he didn't ask after Kentrith's absence. He eagerly launched into an account of the match that had Northvale buzzing. Kentrith listened with forced interest, trying to keep his mind from the rustic barrels just beyond his reach…

"Then, she spits this tiny fishhook out of her mouth, which she must have kept hidden the entire time, which is why she wouldn't speak! Then she sticks Hammerpaw right in the eye with it! I wouldn't wanna have a fishhook anywhere, but in the _eye_?"

 _That explains the fishhook,_ Kentrith thought wryly.

"Then, while Hammerpaw's trying to hold on to his eyeball, she dives for her spear, and then she's flying through the air, at his back…"

And suddenly, Kentrith could see it. The otter, rudder streaming out behind her, crashing down on her target, the spear raised and gleaming, and descending. Again and again.

Except her victim wasn't a wearat.

And a young fox hid in the bushes beside a far-away, long-ago road, watching helplessly.

Kentrith gripped the bar, the vole's next words muffled by the rage sweeping through him.

"But she spoiled the fun for the bloodthirsty, bringing up her imprisoned daughter and all of that sad reality. So Nire gives her some love for the crowd, but we've all heard she's been thrown into the cells for cheating. In fact, I heard she's been chained to that stoat that failed her silly escape attempt."

 _So, even that didn't work right,_ Kentrith moaned internally, rubbing his muzzle. The Monster had a daughter? One being held by Nire? A baby, just like Marik. Just like Dia.

He reeled in his seat, trying to find some balance as the vicious, snarling otter in his mind was replaced by a small, hunched figure, the slices she had scored in her own arms seeping her life away.

A paw on his shoulder caused him to jump.

"What's the matter with you, mate?" asked Sly, looking genuinely concerned. "Ye've gone droopy." He pointed first at Kentrith's ears, then his brush. Kentrith leaned against the bar, trying to sort out the maelstrom of emotion. A small glass was pushed before him, the clear liquid scintillating.

"Here, mate, have one on me. It'll cure what ails you. And if that don't help, I'll get you another."

Kentrith stared at the glass, straining to keep his hold on the bar, to hold back his paw from that one glass… His mind whirled, and he told himself it wouldn't help, that the drink would burn going down, burning as well all the progress he had made since leaving this place…

With a trembling paw, he lifted it to his lips.

He was wrong. It didn't burn at all.

It spiraled downward from there.

* * *

The first beast who snarled at him received a chair to the face. The next had his footpaw crushed by the table Kentrith flipped. He roared wordlessly at them all, charging at any that made sudden movements. Several wearing blue tried to calm him, but the fifteen glasses he had consumed blazed through him, and he shoved them away. They bowled over, and he ripped the portrait of Hendezer the Cyclone from the wall to throw it at them.

He spanned the room with his glare. All the beasts that had been hanging on him now cowered against the walls, watching him in fear. One inched a paw toward a broken chair, but Kentrith snatched a flagon from a nearby table and hurled it at him with all his strength. The creature ducked in time, and the earthen mug shattered against the wall.

Something jumped on his back. Slumping forward, he grabbed the offending beast and tossed him into another table. Paws latched onto his footpaw, and he kicked out as another beast snatched at his vest. He wrenched away, howling, and tore the vest from the grasping beast. He was so foggy he couldn't even see what species he was. The beast he had tossed wrapped his arms around Kentrith's neck and yanked him back. Growling, Kentrith continued to fall backward, crushing the choker. Immediately three more beasts piled on top of him, pinning him down while the one underneath tried to cut off his breath. Kentrith pulled hard enough that the paw slipped, but he couldn't dislodge the three on top of him. The fourth slithered from underneath him, and grasping both his arms, began dragging him toward the door. The other three kept hold of him, but helped to tow him out of the room. He screamed at them as he went.

He fought all the way to the cells. The alcohol he had consumed slowed him and weighted his limbs, but he still bit and yanked and snarled as he was carted into the deepest level of the Crater. The bruised and disheveled guards hurled him into a cell and clanged the door shut. Rising from where he had fallen, he charged for the locked gate, growling, "You jusssst wait, you'll get yer turn. Then we'll shee who's locked up!"

The four backed away, a mix of fear and hatred in their faces. They scurried down the hall, Kentrith shrieking after them, "He'll get you, too! All of us will die out there! We'll all be ground out in the bloodbath _he_ calls a ring, and none of us will ever escape!" Spit dribbled from his mouth, his tongue too heavy to function properly.

A gasp followed the thud of the chamber door slamming shut, and Kentrith turned his attention from the door to find he wasn't alone. Komi, the female stoat, was staring at him from across the hall.

"You!" he snarled, gripping the bars. False fires raced through his paws, and he squeezed the lengths of metal until it felt like he should be bleeding. "You p'thetic waste! I gave you the way out, I told you how to escape. You muss be the coward they name you, to botch it up!" He weaved before the door, giggling. "You think that crying about it will make it go away?! The Crater will chew you up and spit you out until yer just a mass of broken bits!" He cackled louder. "If you aren't already!"

Chinking noises drew his eyes to the cell next to the stunned stoat, revealing an otter rising to her elbows from her prone position. Her face, older than the one that had haunted his dreams for years, stared at him in indignation.

"And you!" he spat. "You thin' one fight in the ring makes you a winner? Don't worry, you'll have plenty of chances to show who you really are, you butchering hag!" He pressed his muzzle to the bars, glowering at her. "Congratulations! You've upgraded from murdering an unarmed healer to poking a wearat in the eye."

"What the bloody hell are ye talkin' about?" the Monster hissed back.

"Yer from Holt Summerdale! Don't try to deny it!" His rage cleared his mind slightly. "I recognized the way you stabbed that Wearat. Leapin on 'im from behind! Tha's a Summerdale move!"

"Aye. I come from Summerdale, and what of it?"

"My mother!" Kentrith screamed, shaking the bars. "A poor healer fox with three sons, who never harmed anybeast, stabbed to death by a big otter. From _Summerdale_. All because of an epidemic she had no control over!" He bashed his head against the bars, trying to oust the image of Dia, her eyes pleading for help as her cut arms bled. "I don't care if your daughter is a slave! I don't care! I don't! I don't!" With each _don't_ he smashed his head against the bars.

"That's enough."

Kentrith snapped his head up, glaring at Nix. She was standing before the door, which no one had heard open. Her arms were crossed, but Kentrith's eyes were too bleary to see her expression.

"What are you doing, Crane?" she blurted. "I have never seen you like this! You tear the lounge apart, and you're raving like a madbeast! What has gotten into you?"

"Isss jus' m' other side coming out," Kentrith slurred, eyes narrowing at her. "It was always like this when I lef'. An' tha' cat is the one that done it!" He waved a paw in a wide arc, forgetting which direction Nire's office lay in.

Nix slipped closer. "What do you mean?"

Kentrith blinked at her incredulously. "I's his fault we're here! 'F weren't for him, you'd still have your husband, and you wouldn't be catchin' slaves all over the place, an' I'd still be a healer, 'stead 'f what I am."

He grabbed Nix suddenly, dragging her closer. "But it won' lass ferever," he hissed, his voice lowering. He shook the shirt he held, continuing, "Nire'll get his due, an' sooner 'n you think. Thin's are in motion."

He tapped the side of his muzzle conspiratorially.

Nix whipped out a key, threw the door open and shoved Kentrith against the far wall. "Are you mad?!" she hissed, yanking him by the shirt. Her voice was almost inaudible.

Kentrith blinked dazedly, feeling a lump rise on his head. "Whassa matter?"

"You can't just talk about things like that in the open! What if someone heard you?" She shook him hard, the fear in her voice piercing his fog. "If word of this gets back to Nire, you're dead, _I'm_ dead, and most importantly, so is Marik!" Her paws twisted, binding the cloth on his arms. "I know he's the reason you're doin… whatever, but you can't… what will he think when he hears about this?" There was a long pause. "He looks up to you! Since he lost his father…"

Kentrith's eyes widened, and he collapsed, his weight wrenching his shirt from her grasp. "I'm sorry," he gasped, beginning to sob as he slumped back. "I wasn't.. I didn' … I swore I'd never drink again, I wouldn't touch the stuff, I wouldn't…" He looked up. "Once I start, I can't stop! It all comes back, and I have to wash it away… And then…" He thumped his head against the bars. "How do I keep it away?" he whimpered.

"You ask for help, you soggy whipsnout." A sigh sounded from above him. "I was going to let you out, but I think you'd better sleep it off here. They'll release you in the morning." Another sigh. "What a mess." The cell door creaked, and there was a click.

Footpaws sounded, moving away, and the thud of the door echoed, filling Kentrith's ears until he could hear nothing else.

* * *

When he awoke the next morning, he was greeted by searing light, pounding pain in his head, and the rattle of something against the bars of his cell. Hargorn was muttering something, but Kentrith's head hurt too much to hear the sneering comments. Curling his arm over his head, he groaned.

A deafening screech sounded as his cell door was opened, but he ignored it. He lay as still as he could on the floor, memories of the night before cresting over him in waves. He squeezed his eyes tight, wishing he could block out all the words he had spoken. Had he really said that out loud?

He groaned again, curling into a ball. What if the Monster blabbed? Or that stoat? After the things he had said, he couldn't exactly blame her… Everything would be jeopardized. Especially Marik.

What would Marik think?

Regret pulled at him, dragging him down to its cold depths, like the river so long ago. If only he could slip away, the way he failed to do before…

 _Get up._

The universe paused. Kentrith held his breath, incredulous. The voice from his memory seemed to be in the same room with him.

 _You sorry sack, you think you get to huddle away from your problems, make them go away?_

His heart pounded, sending fresh pangs through his sore head, waking him up.

 _You don't get to escape it that easily, bucko! You done something wrong, you get up and MAKE IT RIGHT! MOVE THAT TAIL! GET UP!_

Kentrith levered himself up to a sitting position, squinting through blinding light at the dungeon around him. It was empty.

 _You'll never leave me alone, will you?_ he thought irritably. Using the bars as a brace, he inched to a standing position and staggered out of the cell. _I might as well start on making things right._ The method would come to him later, when his head didn't hurt so much.

He reached his room without running into too many doors, and reached immediately for his satchel, the one Bothan had packed for him. He shoved his kettle onto the hearth, which somebeast had kindly lighted for him, and waited impatiently for it to heat, clutching the bag to his chest. Sloshing steaming water into a mug, he jerked the bag open and shuffled out a packet of powdered herbs, sifting it over the mug. A small plop caused him to look down.

Dia's note lay on the floor. Next to a second. Frowning, Kentrith reached creakily for them, flipping them over to see.

Dia's was the same, with faded ink, and a slight stain where he had once spilled elderberry wine on it.

The other was fresh, clean cut edges with dark ink slashed across it.

 _You know where to find me if you need help._

It was followed with the symbol Kentrith had seen in the shop.

The fox staggered to a chair and sat, his legs suddenly too shaky to hold him. He had been right. The herbalist had helped Dia to escape to a safe place, and might be willing to help more.

Maybe he had friends who would also help.

Nire's face suddenly broke into his rising hope, scattering it. He stared at the scrap of cloth with the damning symbol on it, then looked at the one from Dia. If these were ever found in his possession, Marik, Nix, himself…

They would all be doomed.

After staring at them for a very long moment, he rose to his feet and tossed them into the fire. Grabbing his mug, he marched out the door to face the day.


	29. Let's Get Down to Business

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Let's Get Down to Business**

 _By: Komi_

* * *

Komi lay on her side in the cool chill of her cell, her head pillowed on her arm and her face damp with tears. Her ankle ached where the shackle had dug into it during her tug-of-war with Minerva, but Fable had ebbed the worst of the fight out of both of them.

Unlike the otter in the next cell, Komi couldn't sleep. It wasn't nightmares keeping her awake tonight, though.

It was words.

Words, like those that had passed between Minerva and her daughter. Words that tore a hole in Komi's heart.

Hapley's words, roared in his drunken rage, calling her a waste, mocking her for failing in something he deemed so simple.

And Aldridge's words, both recent ones and long ago, and the feel of his muzzle, gentle on the top of her head.

"Damn you, Alder," she whispered into the dark cell. His name came out as a sob. She gritted her teeth and curled tighter into herself.

The last time they'd been together, all those seasons ago, Aldridge had told her he was going to leave. Galleran's drunken boasts about attacking Redwall someday had really rattled him. He was leaving the horde.

And he'd asked Komi to come with him.

She'd laughed him off. Dismissed his fears about Galleran. Given him a kiss and told him not to worry.

By the time Komi changed her mind, when she went looking for him to tell him she would go with him, it was too late.

Aldridge had gone.

 _"Three times I was ready, and I came to your tent and you weren't there."_

She hadn't known.

Another sob threatened to burst out. Hearing a snore and a mutter from the otter who wore the other end of Komi's chain, she swallowed down her tears. She tried to drag up the wall of anger that Aldridge had temporarily knocked down.

 _You still left me. It doesn't matter that you tried._

Komi wanted to sing, to distract herself, but her eyes followed the length of chain to the grate and to Minerva's sleeping form. Waking the otter up with song seemed too cruel after everything that had happened. The fox across the hall would likely just berate her and find one more reason to call her a coward.

So instead, Komi rolled on her back, placed her paws on the stone and began to tap out a steady rhythm. It had been the first rhythm she'd learned on a drum and a common one she'd used for many of her songs.

Tic tic taka taka tic taka tak. Over and over and over. Little by little, the tension in her shoulders loosened and she finally felt in control again.

The chain on Komi's ankle tugged sharply. "Will ye stop that infernal tappin'!" Minerva snarled from the next cell. "What are ye, part woodpecker?"

"Ah, shut up, yourself," Komi snapped. "I had to try to sleep through your snoring earlier. You can sleep through some drum rhythms."

"That ain't no drum! Sounds like bug claws on the stone."

Bug claws… like the hard shelled legs of the scorpion as it scrabbled down the tunnel towards her in the dark.

Komi stilled her paws and shivered.

She heard the thump-clump of a beast with a wooden leg coming down the stone corridor and she sat up, ears pricked forward. Hargorn the weasel, one of the trainers who'd supervised the slaves' training, came into view, keys jingling in his paw. Several of the blue-clad guards stood with him.

"Yer both lucky beasts. Sometimes Nire let's ye stew for a day or two down here. Not his new little pet Monster, though."

He went first to Minerva's cell and unchained the otter. He left her under guard before coming to Komi's cell.

"If I'd been Nire," he said as he dragged Minerva's shackle through the grate, "yew woulda been food for them scorpions." He gave the chain a sharp tug. "Up."

Komi climbed to her feet. "If you were Nire, you'd already be dead." She ducked under the backhanded slap he tried to land on her, but he yanked her end of the chain hard and she fell to the ground. He pinned her down with his twisted peg-leg.

"Yew threatenin' me?"

Komi grimaced as he dug his peg leg into her ribs. "No. Sir." She hissed the words between her teeth.

The weasel snarled at her, but stepped back. Without waiting for her, he dragged the chain back over to where Minerva stood, then fastened it back around her ankle. Komi stumbled upright, rubbing a paw against her ribcage where the peg leg had pressed. A few slow deep breaths helped ease the pain.

"Yer up ter the mess fer breakfast, then report ter Hapley in the trainin' yard," Hargorn snarled, giving Komi a shove as she passed. "Nire wants ye ter have special instruction on fighting as a team, though he's daft ter let that beetle-brained fat-gut instruct ye."

Komi glanced at the fox in the nearby cell, curled up in a tight ball. She doubted that the hungover trainer would be much good for anything.

Flanked by guards, Komi followed Minerva up the tunnel, their long chain dragging behind them. Back by Hapley's cell, there was a sound like a hunk of wood being run over bars, followed by Hargorn's sneering taunt. "Wakey, wakey. Th' almighty Crane ought ter be wavin' whips, not nursin' headaches."

Halfway up the tunnel, Komi and Minerva stumbled to a halt, their shackled footpaws catching at the same moment. They both turned in time to see one of their guards raise his footpaw off the trailing chain. Minerva growled and the rat guard snickered.

"Keep walking, you two," he said.

They continued on, only to be brought up short again by the same guard. Komi watched him out of the corner of her eye when they started again and she gave her ankle a little flick when she stepped forward, causing the chain to skitter ahead of the footpaw about to trod on it. The rat gave a short bark of a laugh, but still stepped on it next time.

In the mess hall, Komi hesitated in the doorway, while the otter walked on, head high. Another one of the gladiator slaves tripped over the chain trailing between them and swore. Then, Minerva stumbled as she reached the end of the chain.

The guard shoved Komi in the back. "Get in there, stoat, or else you and your _partner_ are going to be hungry."

Komi shuffled in a few steps, squared her shoulders, then walked purposefully into the mess, ignoring the eyes that followed her.

The whispers were harder to avoid.

"That's her. Komi the Coward."

"Tried to escape during the Culling."

"Oi 'eard she were danglin' o'er the scorp pit, cryin' for 'elp."

"Ain't she the one been cryin' at night?"

Komi's ears burned as the whispers continued, barely consoled that Minerva and her fight with Hammerpaw was also a popular topic.

A sharp tug on her chain reminded her of the otter and she hurriedly filled up her trencher with the morning's breakfast. When she turned around to look for a place to sit, she hesitated. Though breakfast was winding down, plenty of seating was available. The room was far emptier than it had been yesterday.

 _How many died during the Culling?_ she wondered. The stoat was no stranger to death after years in Galleran's horde, but such a waste of life hit her like a paw to the gut.

When the crowd moved outside for training, Komi and Minerva tripped at least three other beasts, and were tripped up twice themselves by the long dangling chain.

A red-eyed Kentrith Hapley stood with a mug in a corner of the training yard, his clothes rumpled and his headfur spiked as if he'd just hastily washed. Behind him lay a pile of practice spears and several shields propped up in the sand. A second chain lay coiled nearby.

For several long moments, the three beasts stared at each other. Komi remembered the night before when Hapley had raged at them. Now, his tail and ears drooped, though she wasn't sure if she should attribute that to the headache or not.

The fox glanced at Komi out of the corner of one eye. "What I said last night… It wasn't fair. Only knew of one beast who escaped that way. I'm sorry."

Komi's mouth opened, then she closed it again. She just nodded at the trainer.

To Minerva, he said simply, "I'm sorry." The otter snorted in reply.

The fox took a long drag from the steaming mug, lowered it, and said, "Nire has decided the two of you are partners now. Hargorn and I used to fight like this, so I know the tricks and the pitfalls of fighting chained."

"Is that what happened t' him?" Minerva asked.

Hapley blinked at her, but rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes. We faced off against one of the big spiders. I made mistakes and Hargorn paid the price of them. Which brings me to the first point of fighting paired. You have to trust your partner. Trust goes both ways. You have to trust that they'll watch your back and vice versa. Because if your partner falls in the arena, your chances of survival drop dramatically."

The fox picked up a practice spear from the pile and thrust it point down in the sand. "Second is communication. You have to talk to one another. Constantly. Every move you make has to be coordinated. If you go left and she goes right," he pointed first to Komi, then to Minerva, "you'll get three steps before you run out of chain.

"Third is cooperation. You have to work together. Learn each other's strengths and weaknesses and use them. Never forget that you are a team. You walk into the arena together and that's the only way you're walking out again."

Komi and Minerva both shared a look with each other. _Trust, communicate, and cooperate with a woodlander?_ Komi thought. _They may as well just dump us both in the scorpion pit and be done with it._

Hapley gestured to the spear. "Nire's said that your team will use one shield and one spear. Take that one for now and get a shield you feel comfortable with."

Both stoat and otter stepped forward and laid paw on the spear. Komi tried to pull it towards herself. "There is no way I'm trusting a woodlander with a spear at my back. You take the shield."

Minerva yanked back. "And ye think I want the Coward at my back with a spear?"

Komi placed two paws on the spear and tugged harder. "I am no coward, and I used to command the spear beasts in Galleran's horde. I _know_ this weapon better than you."

Minerva bared her teeth at Komi. "Do ye now? Please, I held my first spear before I could walk and spent twenty of my seasons in Holt Summerdale scatterin' beasts like Galleran t' the winds. Besides, wasn't it Galleran's whose horde was wiped out at Redwall? Ye must be a fine commander of the spear t' lose t' beasts wieldin' window poles."

Hapley's rough paws grabbed them both by an ear and knocked their heads together. "Are you two Dibbuns or are you grown beasts? Work together!"

Komi rubbed her ear while glaring at the fox and Minerva wrestled the spear away, teeth bared in Komi's direction.

"I am not going in the arena with just a shield," she told the otter.

Hapley rubbed the bridge of his muzzle. "Let's try it this way." He went to the shield rack and grabbed a heater shield then held out his paw for the spear. Minerva handed it over and he stuck it point first in the sand again, then propped the shield up against it. "Commander Nix?" he called, and the pine marten stepped away from the wall where she'd been quietly watching.

As Komi and Minerva watched, the marten and fox each fastened one shackle to their own ankles, then Nix grabbed a shield while Hapley picked up a second spear. They placed the weapons in the sand next to the other set.

They positioned themselves opposite Komi and Minerva, an equal distance from the weapons. "On the count of three, we go for the weapons," Hapley said. "Fight starts immediately. Let's see how long you two live."

Komi and Minerva shared a glance and Hapley counted down.

"Three, two, one, go!"

Four sets of paws churned the sand and two lengths of chain jingled as they sprinted across the sand. Once more, Komi and Minerva reached the spear at the same time and began a tug of war over the weapon.

Next thing Komi knew, she was face down in the sand, the blunt, yet insistent point of Hapley's spear pressed against her back.

"You're dead, stoat," he said.

Komi spat a mouthful of sand and looked to her left, seeing Minerva pinned down by a stone faced Nix with a shield.

"Up," Hapley barked. "You'll do it again."

Once more, weapons were placed in the center and once more, Hapley counted down. Komi sprinted for the spear, still reaching it in the same breath as Minerva. She let go a second later, lunging for the shield as Nix came at her with a blunted spear.

Nix left her winded in the sand.

"Again!" the fox said.

And again they wrestled for possession of the spear, Komi elbowing the otter in the eye in her fervor to win the weapon. Nix struck Komi hard in the stomach before she could bring the weapon in to block.

"You are on the same side!" Hapley snarled. "Fight each other like that in the arena and you'll both be dead!"

Three times more they attempted Hapley's drill. Each time Komi and Minerva reached for the spear. Hapley bashed Komi's nose with a shield, bloodying it. Minerva's eye started swelling shut from Komi's earlier elbow to the face. They'd yet to last more than a few seconds against the fox and marten.

Body aching and blood running over her muzzle, Komi tried again to win over the otter. She noticed, too late, Nix and Hapley circling around them, their chain gripped in their paws. She got one footpaw out of the loop the trainers made around them, but then the chain cinched tight, hobbling them together.

Nix and Hapley yanked the chain together and Komi and Minerva both yelled as they crashed onto the sand.

"Enough!" Nire's high-pitched voice rang out over the training yard. The lynx stalked towards them as Komi and Minerva untangled themselves. "I must not have been clear in my wishes, Trainer Hapley. I want the Monster of Mossflower to have the spear." He grinned at Komi. "The Coward gets the shield to hide behind."

"I am not going into that arena without a weapon!" Komi snarled, kicking free from the chain.

The feline's grin widened. "Oh, but you are. At least for your first fight. Consider it part of your punishment for trying to run away, Coward."

Komi stood and rubbed a paw under her snout, wiping blood away from her mouth. Coward was what Jossia had called her after the battle of Redwall, and the name had followed her to this distant place. Never had she hated it more than now. She, who used to sit at Galleran's right paw, valued for her advice and council. She, who had stood shoulder to shoulder with Galleran's spear beasts, leading the charges.

 _I will prove to you that I am no coward._ Komi picked up the shield from where it lay in the sand.


	30. Fool's Gold

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Fool's Gold**

 _By: Thrayjen_

* * *

"Where did you learn to fight?"

Blue's shortsword cut the air and barely missed Thrayjen's ears as the rat leaned away. He countered with a slash of his own, his wooden staff knocking against Blue's shoulder and drawing a snarl from the ferret.

"My father taught me," Thrayjen answered.

When he did not elaborate, Blue stopped rubbing her shoulder and repositioned herself. Thrayjen followed suit, gently holding his staff with both paws.

As was custom for them, Blue attacked first, driving Thrayjen back with a flurry of swift jabs and slashes. Her shortsword missed every mark as Thrayjen danced around the attacks. He barely raised his staff except to knock Blue away and off balance when she got too close. The ferret suddenly rolled and brought the pommel of her shortsword down to Thrayjen's footpaw, but the rat knocked the sword away and made to slam the butt end of his staff into Blue's skull. He stopped short of actually harming her, and offered her a paw up when she dropped her training sword.

"You should have come here before they dragged you in, aye!" Blue said between short breaths. "You'd have made a fortune. Oh well, more for me!"

Thrayjen smiled despite the roll of his eyes.

"Nan wouldn't have been happy with that. Old girl would have tanned my hide for even considering."

"Oh, 'Nan wouldn't like this' and 'Nan wouldn't approve of that'. _My_ grandmother never disapproved of _me_ gettin' a job!" The ferret shook her head. "How'd she go, anyway? Did they kill her when they brought you in?"

Thrayjen shook his head, his smile dissipating.

"She passed earlier that night. She… well, she was very old."

"That's gentle at least," Blue sighed. "Plockette was sayin' that you lost your little ones when you came here. If it's any consolation, Nire can't use them like he does to the other families that get captured."

Thrayjen offered her a half-smile.

"That's truly terrible, but thank-you, Miss Blue."

"Right. Best time to train is when you're upset. Come on, then!" Blue barked and, before Thrayjen could position himself, she sprung forward. A new fight began.

The cool early morning turned into scorching heat and soon both Blue and Thrayjen were sitting against the cool stone walls in a shaded area of the training yard. Blue passed Thrayjen a gourd of water from the trough next to them. As the rat poured the water over himself and into his mouth, an otter guard approached the pair.

"Lord Nire wishes to see his property," the otter informed Blue, barely glancing at Thrayjen. "And you, Blue."

Blue nodded and helped herself to some more water.

"Thanks, Redshore. Did he say when, or -"

"Now."

The ferret sprung from the ground and replaced their training weapons in the cabinet. Thrayjen rose much slower, a sense of dread ascending to envelop his stomach.

Redshore led Thrayjen through the winding Drag, shoving slaves aside as he went. Along the way, Thrayjen saw more misery on the faces of his fellow captives, who numbered less than they had the day previous. The evidence of the Cull and the victims it left behind made it too easy to ignore the remaining, pathetic slaves, just like the otter guard chose to do. Thrayjen kept his eyes moving. He looked at each slave as he passed, wondering about the lives that had been stolen from them, and who they had lost along the way. So few had survived the Cull, and those that remained had watched their friends and families die. He, at least, had been spared the sight of the hog babes' fate.

Nire's office was located above the Drag, several floors higher than any area Thrayjen had been allowed to explore. The Crater became more open, with thick columns and large windows instead of the black and grey stone walls below. Thrayjen could see clearly the beasts who watched from above the training arena; all manner of creature exchanged coins and names, and wagers were taken down in books. All around, peddlers sold wooden dolls carved to resemble prominent gladiators, while others traded cloth banners with embroidered sigils of the fighters they supported.

Twisting down several hallways and climbing too many staircases to count, Redshore finally brought Thrayjen and Blue down a corridor that ended in heavy, wooden doors. Two rats in blue stood in the hallway, guarding their master beyond. Upon seeing the party, one rat turned and knocked loudly on the doors.

A high-pitched voice beckoned them in, and Redshore opened the door.

"Thank you, Redshore. Miss Blue, please wait outside, and shut the doors after Hracken."

Thrayjen passed Blue a look of confusion, but the ferret shrugged.

As Thrayjen stepped into the office and the door closed behind him, the rat noticed how similarly decorated Nire's office was to the winner's lounge. Embroidered tapestries hung on the walls, depicting the most legendary fighters. Weapons and eerily white skulls sat on hooks and shelves throughout the space.

 _It's all about the show._ Thrayjen's mouth twitched as he thought about all the slaves he had passed, and how many lives had already been lost to entertain the lynx.

"Please, sit."

From behind a desk, Nire beckoned Thrayjen towards a chair. The lynx was reading intently from a stack of papers, occasionally scribbling notes with a falcon feather quill. Sprawled out on the desktop was large map that covered territory from Northvale to south of Southsward. A red pin was punched into a location on the map where a mountain range circled around a swath of land and then met with the sea. Thrayjen resisted choking when he saw it, reading the neatly printed name.

 _'Muskroarka, Realm of the Rapscallion King'. Please, no._

The rat sat perfectly still save for the nervous twitching of his tail. The silence between the two beasts was thick, but Thrayjen was sure Nire was able to hear his heart beating faster with each passing second. Finally, Nire flipped between pages and then looked up. He smiled broadly as he put his papers down.

"Thrayjen. Your real name is Thrayjen."

Thrayjen winced, barely moving his head as he nodded.

"Well," Nire sighed, leaning back on his chair and stretching his claws out as he flexed his fingers. "It would have been nice to know earlier. The Second Blade to King Grevayyen, son of the destroyer king Currathalla!" Nire wrung his paws excitedly. "I could have billed you as the Prince Blackwhiskers, terror of the seas and Second Blade to King Grevayyen! I _still_ can; it's not too late!"

Nire's eyes began to glaze as his face twisted into a hideously toothy smile.

"The Conductor of the Trant Canal Massacre! The Arson of the Flemming Fire! Prince Blackwhiskers, who orchestrated the Long Winter Siege of Salamandastron!" Borean clapped his paws together. "A siege in _winter_! How did you pull that off and lose less than two score of your own soldiers? Hundreds of The Long Patrol died! What great madness inspired such a feat?"

"I am _not_ Prince Blackwhiskers."

Thrayjen forced his voice to remain steady even as panic rose in his chest. He forced out a laugh and focused on appearing calm in front of Nire, who bore an expression of bored scepticism.

"I'm not Thrayjen _the Blackwhiskers_ ," Thrayjen said again, his tone almost bored as though he had explained this to many others before Nire. "He was a prince in my homeland, and my mother adored the royal family. I'm named for the rapscallion prince, as were many rats from the southern realms, but… I'm not Blackwhiskers. I'm just me."

Thrayjen caught sight of the Crater's fighting pit through the window along the wall.

 _It's all about the show,_ Thrayjen remembered, and he spread his paws wide, leaving himself open in a display of vulnerability. He flashed Nire a bashful smile as though embarrassed at the mistake.

"I'm just… _Hracken_. Just Hracken, Master Nire."

Nire stared at the rat, unblinking and stone still. He glanced from his map to his papers.

"Ah," Nire said, his normally high pitched voice sliding into a low note. "I see."

The lynx looked disappointed as his shoulders slumped and his mouth thinned.

"Oh, well. I suppose it was too good to be true. The number of mice named Martin that come through here, I suppose it's all the same." The lynx leaned forward, pointing a claw at Thrayjen. "Your age, your accent… it all made sense! I thought I had struck gold! An exiled _prince! Tch._ "

Nire leaned back in his chair and considered Thrayjen, his eyes trailing over the rat's features and following the scar that ran jagged across Thrayjen's face. The scrutiny did nothing to ease Thrayjen's nerves and, regardless that the lynx seemed to have accepted his simple, modest explanation, Thrayjen was sure Nire was not convinced.

Yet Nire said nothing else of the matter. Instead, he pulled a blank piece of paper from a stack on his desk and began scribbling with a falcon feather quill.

"You've put up with Master Kentigern very patiently, which I hear is quite the feat. Continue behaving, Hracken. I appreciate obedience in my fighters. I reward those who know their place, and I take care of them." The lynx finished writing and began lightly waving the parchment to dry the ink.

"If you'd be so kind as to send Blue in and close the door behind you. Keep impressing me, _Your Grace_ …"

Thrayjen barely restrained his claws from digging into the arms of the chair as Nire, chuckling quietly, winked at him. The rat forced himself to smile back, to pretend the cat's humour didn't threaten him. No fancy fighting nor comrade in the pit could protect Thrayjen if Nire didn't believe him or, worse, didn't care.

 _No fancy fighting will protect Nire, either,_ Thrayjen thought, wondering just how much, or how little, Nire assumed he knew about the rat.

"Yes, Master Nire."

Eager to leave the presence of the Crater's master, the rat was barely able to restrain himself from leaping out of the chair. He calmly left the office, ignoring Blue's curious look as she passed him at Nire's hailing. He shut the doors, then slowly turned around and let out a breath he had been holding for what seemed like hours, praying the contents of his stomach would stay down.

 _That was too close,_ Thrayjen thought, placing a steadying hand over his heart. _How did that Northern bastard even hear about the Blackwhiskers...? I came so far north! If Grevayyen ever found me… not even The Crater would stand against him._

Thrayjen frowned, running a paw over his face in thought.

 _Nire mustn't know. He wouldn't dare announce capturing the Blackwhiskers if he truly knew about Grevayyen._

Thrayjen squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, swallowing his fear. He consoled himself, convincing himself Nire knew nothing, and that so long as he was Hracken, Nire wouldn't pursue the matter. He forced himself to smile, and chat idly with the rat guards as he waited for Blue.

The guards proved a minor distraction from Thrayjen's anxiety. They had seen his fight alongside MacRaff the Wrath and had admired how he had leapt to his comrade's rescue. One of them showed Thrayjen a scar from the one and only time he had tried his paw in the ring, only to come out three claws shorter and with a healthy sense of mortality. The guard gave gory details, but Thrayjen's mind was wandering to Nire's map.

How had that foreign bastard even _heard_ of Thrayjen the Blackwhiskers? Who told him that the mild mannered rat with the ugly face was the Unseated Son? Everything Thrayjen had left behind from his homeland, his deeds and name, were beginning to catch up. He hadn't gone far enough to lose the reputation of his name. Thrayjen resolved then that Hracken would be the name he gave to all, and 'Thrayjen' could never be brought up again. It would be forgotten, like so much else.

 _I'm not the Blackwhiskers. I'm not Hracken the Kraken, either, but… Hracken won't attract the attention of Grevy. He won't march this far north into Mossflower for some nobody scrapper. It's just a name... only a name. It's not_ me _. Never again._

When at last Blue emerged from Nire's office, she snatched Thrayjen's notched ear and dragged him away from the scoffing guards.

"You devil," Blue hissed in his ear, smirking.

"What? What's happened? What did Nire say?" Thrayjen asked desperately, trying to keep his feet from tangling with hers as she pulled him down the hallways, back into the Drag. She ignored Thrayjen's questions the entire time, hauling the tall rat behind her until she reached a set of yellow doors stained with bloody paw prints. Blue loudly knocked.

"Miss Blue, please? Why did you take me to the sick bay?"

Thrayjen flinched as the doors flung open and the coppery smell of blood and decay wafted into the air. The occasional whimper could be heard from the shabby beds lining the walls, the beasts occupying them almost invisible in the sparse torchlight. A lean squirrel with greying ears and a stained medick's coat greeted Blue from the threshold with a deep and gravelly voice.

"Ah, Miss Blue! I haven't seen you since Brakker the Breaker lost to -"

"Hello, Poil," Blue bit out a greeting, all but shoving a written note Thrayjen recognized as Nire's into the squirrel's paws. "Right from Lord Borean himself! Hracken here is goin' to need a little of the Flitchaye formula."

The squirrel squinted at the unfolded note, his eyes flashing across the page. "Ah, yes! Come in, come in. Hracken, eh? Well, you'll want to sit down right here, and, yes, there, Blue, be a dear and grab me that rope."

"Rope?" Thrayjen's ears perked.

"Here, have some tea, it'll help calm you. I always keep a pot warm for company."

Thrayjen accepted the tea as Poil shoved a mug into his paws. It smelled like punky wood and Thrayjen curled his nose at it suspiciously; whatever it was, it was _not_ sweet tea made from berry or flower.

"Drink up," Poil said expectantly, leaning forward and eyeing Thrayjen. The rat looked helplessly to Blue, who was hopping excitedly from foot to foot.

"Miss Blue…?" Thrayjen looked at the ferret, her toothy grin sending shivers throughout his body. He couldn't understand why she looked proud. She urged him to drink the concoction. Thrayjen swallowed nervously and, clenching his eyes closed, he downed the tea.

After a minute, Thrayjen opened his eye tentatively. He looked down at himself, looking for any sort of change for lack of feeling any effect.

"Oh," Thrayjen said quietly, then burped. Thrayjen's vision almost immediately began to spin and he felt incredibly tired.

"Don't worry," Poil said, picking up a saw. The squirrel's voice sounded very distant. "I used a concentrated version. Yooou wooooooon't feeeeeeeelllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaathhhhiiiiiiiiiiiing…"

"Good afternoon, beautiful!"

* * *

Thrayjen blinked, groggy as he tried to sit up, and immediately spilled off the tabletop and onto the floor. The collision sent his aching head spinning, and Thrayjen moaned as his paw drifted to his face. His cheek felt swollen and every breath set his gum on fire with pain. He groaned again and closed his eyes, too tired to protest any more.

A claw dug into his notched ear and immediately the rat's eyes flew open as he jostled awake yet again.

"Don't fall back asleep, aye! The tea wasn't as strong as it should have been to knock someone as big as you out for _that_ long. The Flitchayes really knew what they were doing with this stuff…" Blue was hovering over him, coiling ropes that had tied him down in case he had woken prematurely. "Come on, up! Up!"

Thrayjen sat up, whimpering and glaring half-heartedly at the squirrel who was cleaning sharp looking tools.

"Let him rest, Miss Blue," Poil said. His coat was slightly redder than it had been before. "Give him lots of clean water and make sure he keeps his mouth clean while he heals. Don't want him dying from an abscess."

"Thanks, Poil!" Blue slapped the squirrel on the back. Poil shrugged and gave Thrayjen a weak smile.

"Nire must like you if he's giving you a _gold_ tooth. Most around here don't even get wooden ones. Nice coincidence that monstrous otter mum took down Hammerpaw. His memory lives on, though… in your mouth!"

Thrayjen opened his mouth to speak but bloody drool dribbled out. The rat covered his maw with both paws and moaned in pain and embarrassment. Blue and Poil laughed, Poil giving Thrayjen a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. As the squirrel began to wipe down the table with a damp cloth, Blue helped Thrayjen to his feet. She spoke to him as she guided him out the door, changing the volume of her voice to continuously grab the dozy rat's attention.

"My pa wouldn't let me sleep as long as you did. No, sir! Didn't get a son with the drive to do what we do, so he drove _me_ hard to make up for that. No, you're lucky I'm not as hard as my ol' pa. Watch it, aye!"

Unbalanced and barely able to control where his feet took him, Thrayjen bounced off a passing stoat. The stoat tripped and dropped a quiver of arrow shafts, sending the blunt projectiles spilling across the stone floor. He started to say something but met Thrayjen's eyes and paused, looking at the rat with a distant expression.

"Sorry," Thrayjen said through a mouthful of spit. Thrayjen tried to bend down and help recover the arrow shafts but teetered too far forward and stumbled to his knees.

"It's alright," the stoat said. "Is _he_ alright, Miss Blue?"

"Don't' you worry about Hracken," Blue said as she waved a dismissive paw. "He just got himself a fancy new tooth and is still waking up. I'm takin' him to the tavern for some hot gin and some soup. You should join us, Aldridge!"

"That`d be lovely," the stoat replied. Aldridge collected up the rest of the shafts, gently taking the ones from Thrayjen's barely clasped paw.

With Blue and Aldridge tripping over Thrayjen's dragging tail, the trio managed to make their way to the tavern Thrayjen had visited after his fight against the weasel brothers. The rat managed to pull himself up the stairs, but mercifully his trainer and her acquaintance, seeing Thrayjen was still struggling from the effects of the tea, led him over to a nearby table. Thrayjen slumped on an upholstered couch, thanking the two beasts profusely for their patience.

"Oy, sis!" Plockette gleefully exclaimed, and Blue turned around with a grin. The siblings embraced and Blue gestured to Aldridge and Thrayjen.

"You remember Hracken, of course, and this fellow here is Aldridge Moor. He's a bowyer, new here."

"We don't normally let anyone but prize fighters in here, aye," Plockette said quietly as he eyed the collar around Aldridge's neck, "But since my sister is with you, I'll let it slide."

"He's been in here before," Blue chided Plockette before boasting, "and he'll be back again! He's one of my new recruits. Why, these two are practically brothers, aye!" the ferret exclaimed. Her brother laughed.

"Well, lads and lady, what can I get for you today?" Plockette rested a paw expectantly on the table.

"Get Hracken here a hot gin for his toothache, and my usual, aye," Blue ordered. "And bring us some fish soup."

"If you have a pear cordial, I'll have some," Aldridge said. Blue shoved him.

"Cordial? That's a dibbun's drink! Why don't you have a milk while you're at it, aye!" the ferret chided him.

"Just so happens," Plockette started with a chuckle, "The cellar master broke open a keg for a kit's nameday recently. I'll be right back."

"Pear cordial was Helix's favourite," Thrayjen loftily said. "I walked to town one season in heat hotter than a forge to trade for some on his sixth nameday. He drank so much, he got sick!"

As the rat chuckled to himself Aldridge turned to Blue questioningly.

"Helix was his pup. Lost him coming here, along with a young girl." The ferret held a claw to her lips, silencing the matter. Aldridge nodded in understanding.

Plockette appeared bearing a platter of drinks and dishes, which he effortlessly doled out before hustling off to tend to other patrons. Thrayjen picked his cup up and brought it close to his mouth. The heat hurt his jaw, but he drank none the less, determined to find some sort of comfort from his uneasy day.

"So, Mister Hracken, where did you come from?" Aldridge asked. "Before here, I mean."

"I came from the southern realms," Thrayjen said, suddenly finding himself very alert. Why did the stoat care where he was from? He wore a collar, but Nire no doubt had many ears in many guises.

"The South!" Aldridge's eyes lit up. "I grew up in Hestara. Do you know the place? The townsbeasts called her the Gem of the Southern River. Ah, but that was twenty seasons hence, or more. Who knows whether she even still stands?"

 _She did, last I heard,_ Thrayjen thought.

"Twenty seasons? Around the time I left, ah, home," Thrayjen said. "That was quite some time ago."

"Aye, but it wasn't by choice. I was conscripted into a horde half a season after coming of age, spent a few seasons following the orders of a truly ruthless beast. All full circle now, though. Nire takes a little more care of his subjects than old Currathalla did."

Thrayjen's eyes practically bulged from his socket. He choked on his gin and spluttered. Aldridge raised a brow.

"You've heard of him, then."

 _Father…_

"He was the tyrant king of Muskroarka," Thrayjen answered. "He died and his son, Grevayyen, assumed the throne. Heard he's a nasty piece of work."

"Two sons, in fact, and each as bad as the other. I heard the younger killed the elder for the throne."

"I heard he just exiled him," Thrayjen said quietly. "Or he left to go expand the empire, or some such nonsense."

 _Fled._

"Typical vermin," Blue said wryly, and the three of them shared an ironic laugh.

"In any case, I left that place behind a long time ago. Horde life isn't for me, it seems."

"I think a lot of hordebeasts feel that way," Thrayjen said, squinting as Aldridge. He wanted to believe the stoat was genuine. "In the end, what made you leave?"

 _Did we hurt you?_

"The old boy's death. We shared a drink some nights, when the weight of the crown was keeping him awake. That didn't sit so well with some of his advisors, or his courtesans. A lowly bowyer and a king?"

 _"A lowly bowyer and a king, Father?!"_ Thrayjen blinked. He hadn't thought about that argument in seasons.

"Absurd," Aldridge pressed on. "Word of his death got out, and I ran like Hellgates themselves had opened at my heels. I swear the smoke was rising from my workshop before I was even a league away."

Thrayjen looked down, glancing at his footpaws and the table and everywhere else. He didn't tell Aldridge that he had been too preoccupied with a mouse maid slave to bother personally chasing after his father's bow maker drinking friend. He'd known that the stoat would never come back.

 _He never did, either,_ Thrayjen thought wryly. _Good on him._

Aldridge sipped from his cordial, raising his brows as Blue gave him a sympathetic look.

"You two," she sighed, pinching her nose. "Finest pair of storytellers, aye."

"Enough about me," Aldridge said, setting his cup down. "How about your profession?"

"I was in a horde before I took up the simple life," Thrayjen said, glancing at Blue. He felt somewhat guilty every time she looked surprised with him.

"Nan wouldn't approve," the ferret said, mimicking Thrayjen's voice.

"I left, too," Thrayjen continued on, ignoring Blue's jab. "I… it wasn't for me. Lost my stomach for it."

"And found it again, by the looks of it," Aldridge said flatly, eyeing the warrior's mark on Thrayjen's collar. "Hracken the Kraken, right? I heard about your fight."

"I still feel bad, thinking about Ripfang's footpaw. He'll never walk again," Thrayjen said, staring towards the window that overlooked the fighting pit.

"You won, though."

"And I didn't kill anyone," Thrayjen pointed out, running a claw over the mark on his collar.

"True," Aldridge remarked, his tone slightly lighter. He gave Thrayjen a quick but satisfied nod, and raised his glass.

"To prolonging the inevitable," Aldridge said. As Blue rolled her eyes at them, Thrayjen clinked his glass against the stoat's.

"The inevitable," Thrayjen joked, and downed his cup.


	31. Don't Fear the Reaper

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Don't Fear the Reaper**

 _By: Silas_

* * *

Silas woke, feeling something nip his leg. The fleas were not quite as awful as they were when he first arrived, but he was also sleeping harder. The rat washed his face at the nearest water barrel, rubbing the crust from his tired eyes. The light filtering through the viewing slits was pale and dim, and Silas could see his breath in the chilly air. He twisted, feeling his back pop and began to bend and rotate his arms, legs, and neck to better his range of motion. It was too early to visit the training grounds, but he would practice his footwork, never-the-less.

Silas had survived the culling, albeit with difficulty. He had followed the advice of the otterwife, Minerva, forcing himself to rise again and again, beyond what he imagined he could endure. The wildcat who replaced the dead wearet had been even more fierce and brutal, as if to make up for the other gladiator's failure. Silas took quite the beating before being rewarded a reluctant thumbs up, and bore massive bruises across the majority of his body for a week thereafter, not unlike the rest of the surviving slaves. Now, significantly fewer lumps littered the floor of the Drag, warming themselves more comfortably with the abandoned blankets of the dead.

Silas made a point to train daily at the sandy practice grounds, resting only long enough to recover. During off hours, like now, he practiced the steps without the weapons, repeating and reciting what he had learned the previous day.

"Fixed center, revolving radius, triangular stance. . ." Silas was reviewing the transition between two positions when the gate at the end of the Drag squeaked open and a new beast was shoved in. The hedgehog fell to the ground with the momentum, then eased to his feet when the guard left. Silas froze when the face came to light. He knew this creature. He lowered his arms slowly and relaxed his pose.

"Truggo?"

"Silas?" the hedgehog squinted through the dimness, "They got you too?"

Silas wore a pained expression as his former employer came up to grip his paw warmly.

"Who else on the crew did those crooked bastards nab?"

"I. . . I don't know." Silas avoided the hedgehog's eyes.

Truggo swore again, brow knitting with a deep frown. "Everyone warned me it was risky business, working for the Crater. Bad rumors floating around out there. But the pay was so good, and who could have predicted that _gardening_ could be anything but harmless?"

Silas continued to wag his head in denial. "I thought citizens of Northvale would be _safe._ "

"Nire has his ways. If you screw up enough." Truggo bit his quivering lip, looking past Silas down the long dark tunnel that was the Drag. "The day before my arrest he accused me of intentionally building a ladder up to his sleeping quarters to let in an assassin. Apparently some cutthroat managed to climb one of those damnable trellises we put up." Truggo half chuckled, half sobbed, shaking his head. "Who knew roses would cost me my life?" He sucked in a quick breath and his eyes grew glassy.

"We're not dead yet," the rat put a gentle paw to the hedgehog's shoulder.

Truggo only shook his head. "Nire's in charge. He's not going to be fair to a beast he thinks tried to kill him. . ."

"But your family and friends – " Silas started.

"My family and friends think I'm a murderer." Truggo's face twitched and his lips trembled over clenched teeth.

The rat grew silent.

"Nire's cronies set me up," the hedgehog continued, collecting himself. "They stuck Reginald with some gardening sheers after we'd had an argument about his slacking off. Then some lowlife swore before a judge that he saw the whole thing! I think my wife believed me, but. . ." His face contorted and his breath came in shorter gasps.

"I'm so sorry, Trug." He let the hedgehog weep into his shoulder, though he felt stiff with guilt. "You didn't deserve any of this."

Soon after, the gates of the Drag opened and the portcullis dividing the two sides lifted. Beasts began to stir as guards and workers launched into the day's tasks. Truggo was removed to undergo his first official medical inspection, and Silas took the opportunity to head to the training grounds. The fox trainer, Kentrith Hapley, was there, peering over a list of notes with a yawn.

"Sir, I need you to show me those moves again from yesterday," Silas spoke from behind, causing the fox to start. "I'm doing something wrong because my feet are not facing the way they're supposed to when I finish."

"You know," the fox rubbed his forehead. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Silas, but no beast really masters the sword – or any weapon, for that matter – in a single week. Just keep practicing. It will come to you." He turned back to his notes, making a few checkmarks.

Silas frowned, looking away. "Easy to say when your life isn't on the line, I suppose."

The fox seemed to snap at this, slamming his wooden clipboard hard enough against the counter to crack. " _All_ of our lives are on the line, Mr. Hetherton. Always. All of us. No exceptions. It's just a matter of _time._ "

"I'm sorry," Silas replied after a weighty pause. "I didn't realize."

The fox heaved a sigh. "I understand your urgency, I really do. No one knows when their name will be called, and it's better to be at least somewhat prepared."

"I don't suppose Nire is going to wait until I'm ready."

"No, probably not," Hapley admitted. "But no beast is ever really ready."

Silas trained hard, as he did every day, hounding Hapley for advice and correction, and engaging any and every gladiator willing to spar. Today he fought with two short swords, trying and failing over and over to defeat a mouse wielding a simple sword and shield. In spite of the humiliation, Silas continued to rise to his feet again and again.

"What am I doing wrong?" He finally growled in exasperation.

The mouse shrugged his padded shoulders. "You fight defensively. You're pretty good at blocking, but eventually a blow is going to get through."

Silas nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you. That helps." They continued to spar until eventually Silas looked up and saw the lynx, Nire, standing next to Kentrith, watching. The mouse jabbed his wooden sword into the distracted rat's padded chest and Nire frowned, shaking his head. Silas's lip twitched. Kentrith made a motion for him to continue and Silas tried to focus on the mouse before him. He nodded, signaling he was ready to try again. Block. Block. Parry. Block. He continued to fight defensively until suddenly he lunged. . . and skewered himself on the mouse's wooden blade. He cursed quietly and looked toward the entryway, but only the back of the cat could be seen as the showbeast disappeared back through the tunnel. Silas grimaced when the fox waved him over.

"What'd he say?" Silas peered down the dark passageway.

"Not much," Hapley said. "He asked how you were measuring up. Told me to assign you a set of sickle swords. Apparently, you're going to be called "The Reaper."

"The Reaper?" Silas cocked his head to one side.

"Yeah, sorry. Probably because I told him you used to be a farmer. He likes fighters to have themes." Kentrith strolled up to a cage lined with wooden practice weapons and pulled out a pair of curved, hook-like swords. He handed them to the rat who turned them over in his paws with a grim expression.

"Does this mean. . . that I'm going to have to fight soon?" The rat's voice was quiet, weighted with apprehension.

Kentrith licked his lips and rubbed at his ear. "I'm not gonna lie to you. If Nire's watching you, it's for a reason."

Silas felt a flutter of fear as his suspicions were confirmed. Then he gripped the wooden hooks and strode back out onto the sand. Kentrith followed, granting the rat his full attention the rest of the afternoon.

Once the training grounds were closed, Silas was forced to fall in step with the other slaves again. He studied the beasts around him, wondering which of them he was going to have to fight. At mess, an otter named Darby offered him his quail egg. They had helped one another earlier, after the cull, taking turns wetting cool compresses.

"I don't feel right eatin' birds," he explained, "Even unhatched."

"Thanks, but no." Silas focused on his plate and another slave volunteered to take it.

Silas imagined facing Darby in the arena, then looked down the long mess table at the rest of the slaves, every one of them a potential enemy. He would fight them if he had to. It was rumored that the most successful gladiators earned more freedoms and privileges, and he'd heard some were even awarded a seat at Nire's banquet table in some cases.

Silas finished his meal and walked away without meeting another beast's eye. Whatever it took, eventually he would find a way to get at Blasio, even if he had to cut his way through others.

No one was his friend here, he reminded himself, even if they pretended to be.

* * *

The next day Silas had hardly been training for an hour when a cluster of arena guards came for him. Trainer Hapley squeezed his shoulder, consolingly.

"Fight hard. Remember your training. Don't think about the other beast except as someone who is trying to kill you. That survival instinct will get you past any qualms." Silas nodded, heart racing.

As he was marched through the tunnel, he remembered the rat named Hracken defeating The Beheader, the otterwife using clever tricks to defeat Hammerpaw, and. . . the rat losing half his face to Thrasher.

 _"He's not going to be fair to a beast he thinks tried to kill him."_ Truggo's words came back to him. Silas could not fight like Hracken the Kracken, and did not have the wiles of the Monster of Mossflower. He wasn't ready. _He wasn't ready!_ Silas started to panic as he neared the end of the tunnel. He could see the sands of the arena through the bars, thirsting for his blood.

But before they reached the arena, they paused in front of another gate where a tough stoat in chain mail guarded a small, padlocked armory. One of Silas's guards spoke to the fox on the other side who brought out two sickle swords and slid them through a slotted opening. One of the handles was cracked and the blades were tarnished, but the hooks were sharp. A marten put a spear to his back as a weasel handed him the pair of weapons. Silas expected to be shoved through the gate, but instead was forced up a set of stairs to the rim of the arena. A voice echoed beyond, but Silas could not make out the words amidst the tunnel's distortions. At the top, a platform spread out before him like a stage.

"Wait," the beast holding the spear commanded and Silas stopped, gripping his weapons awkwardly.

"…Jacks and jills! Masters and maidens! Beasts of all kinds!" The voice of Nire called, amplified by a cone-shaped device, "I give youuuuu – the _Reaper!"_

"Walk forward and hold your swords high," the marten directed.

Silas did as he was told and stepped out onto the platform, facing a vast audience of beasts, cheering, whistling and mocking. The rat swallowed, amazed at the number of beasts that had come to watch him die. Once the noise faded, the marten directed him again.

"Now move into the basket."

Confused, Silas looked around, then spotted a cage dangling from a lift to his right. It hung out over the arena and rocked slightly when he stepped in. He ran a paw nervously across the tough, leathery fiber, then seized it when the cage dropped suddenly beneath him, lowering him down, down into the Crater.

As the basket neared the sandy ground, Silas looked wildly around for whatever beast might be waiting there for him, but the arena appeared empty. The cage hit the sand and he froze, unwilling to abandon his only cover, but the hard, reinforced basket bore no such attachment, dumping him out as it rose back up into the air. Silas jumped to his feet, shaking the sand from his fur and gripped his sickles with white-knuckled paws.

"On the other side, his opponent," Nire's voice resounded clearly across the Crater, "A vile beast, captured from the darkest, most dangerous alleys of Northvale itself, where lowlifes prey on innocent passersby. A beast caught in the very act of murder – I give you. . . _Rake Redpaw!"_

Silas could barely make out the weapon the other beast lifted: a rake-like weapon with a long row of sharp, iron spikes. Rake Redpaw stepped into the other cage and Silas watched it descend, readying himself for the inevitable. He mentally repeated Hapley's earlier advice. _"Be offensive. Don't let the other guy control the fight or you_ will _lose."_ He gripped his blades determinedly.

Out of the basket leapt a hedgehog, roaring with rage as he charged across the sand at the stunned rat.

It was Truggo.

"You!" The hedgehog swung the rake at Silas's head. The rat barely lifted his sickles in time, redirecting the swing to the ground. Truggo lifted it from the sand with another yell, tossing a shower of grit towards Silas along with the spiked end of the rake. Once again Silas defended, taking several steps back. "It's all because of you!" Truggo bellowed. "Reginald's death, Nire's anger – I lost everything because of you!"

Silas blocked and deflected, but could not bring himself to do more. Images of Truggo swinging his children up into his arms and kissing his wife goodbye clouded his mind even as he caught the shaft of the rake between his hooks, severing the head from the rod. Truggo smacked him across the head with the stick and jabbed it into his chest, pushing the rat to the ground. Silas curled up as the hedgehog beat him with the rake handle, hardly bothering to block the assault. He deserved it. He had used Truggo without considering how his actions might affect the gardener and his crew. He'd risked the life of this husband and father to further his own agenda, the same as Blasio.

The sickle swords lay in the sand.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Silas repeated. "I know. I'm so sorry." Though his vision was blurred, he could see Truggo had recovered the spiked rake head and was now standing over him, raising the implement for a final, killing blow.

Silas held his paws up in feeble defense, eyes wide.

The crowd cheered, then grumbled and jeered as the hedgehog's arm slowly lowered. Truggo tossed the rake head into a pile of sand with a thud.

"I'm not a murderer. If anyone's to blame, it's Nire. He's the one who framed me and took everything from me. I won't let him take my honor too. I'm _not_ going to kill for him." Truggo turned, jutting his chin up at Nire.

"You hear me?" he shouted defiantly. "I am _not_ a murderer!" The audience booed loudly.

Silas blinked, eyes clearing. Beyond the hedgehog he saw Blasio in the stands, looking bored. The beaver gestured unhappily at the defective fighters, but the lynx beside him was bent forward intently, an eager grin on his face. Nire waved the beaver off without even turning.

Silas felt a chill and searched the arena for what he wasn't seeing.

Then, in a flash, the ground came to life, and Truggo was snatched off his feet with a shriek. A viper that had buried itself in the sand rose up, clearly visible now as it shook its head in annoyance at the spikes of its prey. Silas seized his weapons and leapt to his feet, fear gripping him as the snake thrashed and curled around the screaming hedgehog, fangs sunk deep into his belly. The audience came alive with a roar of applause, gleefully watching as the viper flung the hedgehog aside, and turned its gaze upon the more palatable rat.

Silas watched, wide-eyed, as the pale adder slid aggressively toward him, its rough scales rasping through the sand with uncanny speed. He stood, transfixed, until a familiar, bombastic laugh reached his ears.

 _"No."_

The fear evaporated, but the rush of energy accompanying it remained as the rat fell into a fighting stance, holding his sickles at the ready. The viper struck and Silas blocked. The snake's fangs clanged against the crossed blades while the momentum threw the rat violently to the ground. He grappled, snagging the dripping fangs against the hooks as he stared into the wide, pink mouth. Then he slashed the hooks across one another in a scissoring motion, tearing the venomous fangs from the gaping mouth. The snake reared back with a hiss.

Silas readied himself again, but did not see the tail that had pushed through the sand behind him. With a flick, the snake tripped the rat onto his back and lunged, seizing hold of his thigh and lifting him into the air with a twist. Silas yelled as the viper jerked and manipulated him with its lips into a better swallowing position, holding him high off the ground.

"Aaaaaaah!" Silas almost dropped his sickles as the sharp boney back teeth cut into his trapped leg. He kicked, but felt the base of his tail inching into the maw all the same, bending into a "U" shape as the viper began the process of eating him alive. The inner teeth punctured his skin again and again as it gulped. He swung and flailed with his sickles, but the snake kept its long neck arched too far for him to reach with claws, teeth, or sickles. The crowd cheered at the spectacle, loving every minute.

Silas's mind raced as he struggled vainly. From upside-down he looked from the goading crowd to the broken rake, and then at Truggo, sprawled awkwardly in the sand, still breathing, but paralyzed with venom. The snake gave him another shake of annoyance, and then, it dawned on him: The viper was not used to having to fight its prey all the way down. Its venomous bite was supposed to incapacitate him like Truggo.

He started to droop then, willing himself to go almost completely limp while retaining a tight grip on his sickles. After a moment, the snake appeared to relax, lowering its head and coiling closer to the rest of its long body. It swallowed again and Silas felt his tail and other foot slide into the viper's maw before it curled tighter, drawing its helpless prey nearer its coils.

Suddenly he lurched, throwing himself toward the snake's body, sickles first. The curved swords hooked around the scaly hide and Silas yanked with all his might. The blades cut deep into the reptilian flesh. The viper jerked reflexively, ripping the rat away. . . and severing itself in two.

Screams filled the air as the crowd responded. The viper vomited Silas out onto the sand, its two halves thrashing wildly as it hissed and curled in on itself in pain.

The rat picked himself up, half of his body slicked with slime, and watched the viper in awe. Any other beast would have died, but the creature before him continued to live, albeit with violent agitation. Silas took a tentative step toward the writhing snake.

It snapped at him, but the bite fell short. The viper was on the defense now.

Silas raised his bloodied sickles and met the next desperate strike with another cross slash, cutting through one side of the snake's jaw so that it hung crooked. Again the viper tried, and again, knocking the rat back until it was clearly exhausted, its cold blood oozing slowly from the mortal wound. It struck once more, but clumsily, and the rat jumped out of the way, letting it crash to the sand with its once-deadly mouth gaping open and useless.

Silas put a foot on the head and curled his sickles just behind the skull of the defeated monster. Then he looked up into the crowd, directly at Blasio, and carved his blades deliberately through the massive, sinewy neck, separating head from body. The arena went wild as the beasts of Northvale roared and stomped their approval. Silas pointed a single dripping sickle at Blasio, meeting the beaver's eyes with his fiercest glare.

Blasio rose to his feet, large yellow teeth grinning broadly, and pointed right back, laughing and clapping his approval. Beside him, Nire looked significantly less pleased, but rose to his podium all the same.

"Beasts of Northvale, once again I give you. . . _The Reaperrrrrrr!_ "

* * *

Trainer Hapley was the first to greet the slimy, bloody rat as he walked back through the tunnel gate. "I don't know what happened to you in that first round, but thank Vulpes you made up for it in the end."

Silas looked back over his shoulder at the beasts carrying Truggo's lifeless body off the sands.

"I can't do it."

"What do you mean, you can't do it? You just did!" Kentrith gestured emphatically at the rest of the arena crew struggling to haul off the giant snake in three separate parts.

Silas looked at his bloody paws. "I can't. . . kill innocent beasts. The snake was different. The other gladiators though. . . they just want to live, same as I do." He met the fox's golden eyes. "I don't think I can kill them."

Kentrith was silent for a long moment, considering the rat's confession.

"If you think like that you may as well throw yourself on the next sword you find. We _all_ want to live. We are _all_ fighting for something, and we have no choice, if we want to live."

Silas's lips drew tight, but made no reply.

"The other fighters have determined to survive, in the only method given to us." Kentrith continued. "Do not dishonor their choice by giving up. Acknowledge their bravery and fortitude with your own. Fight with everything you have. Know that they will do the same. When you win, which you will, and their death is called for, then be kind. Don't drag it out or make a show of it. Give them one last moment of dignity."

Silas stared at the trainer. "I'm. . . glad you have that level of faith in my abilities. . ." He looked away, realizing too late that he was probably confiding in the wrong beast. He wondered how many gladiators Hapley had killed.

"Just realize that nothing stays the same forever," Kentrith added as an afterthought. "As we are being changed by the Crater, we also effect changes to it." He lowered his gaze. "Perhaps even for the better."

Silas nodded somberly as footsteps carried toward them from another passageway.

"Reaper! Oy! Reaper!" A young, jovial ferret bounced down through the tunnel and up to the exhausted rat, grinning from ear to ear. "I have a message for you! From your sponsor!"

"My. . . sponsor?" Silas gave the envoy a puzzled look as Kentrith excused himself.

"Blasio Timberfell!" The ferret exclaimed.

Silas looked taken aback, lip curling. The messenger might as well have vomited in his lap.

"Is something wrong?" The ferret grew concerned.

Silas composed himself with a shake of his head. "No, just feeling a little woozy."

"Oh yeah, you were janglin' upside-down for quite a while there, weren't you?" He snorted a laugh, then pulled a letter from his satchel, presenting it to the rat. Silas read the message, written in a flourished scrawl:

 _Reaper,  
I am sending a tailor your way to fit you with clothes befitting a champion snake-slayer. I've tasked the Crater's best smithy to provide you with a better set of weapons as well. Feel free to stop by the tavern for a drink on me. Congratulations and many thanks for a spectacular show._

Regards,  
Blasio Timberfell

Silas set his jaw, trying hard not to react, jerking a nod at the ferret.

"Thank you. For the message." He forced a smile, silently touching the pocket where he had concealed one of the deadly fangs.

The ferret grinned at him. "When do you want to get started?"

"I beg your pardon?" Silas consciously moved his paw away from the hidden trophy.

"I'm the tailor!" The ferret laughed. "Call me Jiblet."

"Oh." Silas looked down at his breeches, plastered to his legs and full of holes and blood stains, the same as his skin beneath.

"How 'bout I meet you over at the wash station?" suggested the cheerful tailor. "It's the perfect place to take measurements. See you in the drying room!" He hurried off.

Silas waited until the ferret was out of range, then crushed and twisted the letter between his shaking paws, tearing it into tiny pieces before breaking down into a miserable heap.

"I can't do this," he whispered, covering his face with blood-dried paws. "I can't become him."


	32. Let Steel Do the Talking

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Let Steel Do the Talking**

 _A Collaboration Between: Kentigern and Aldridge_

* * *

A hare and a stoat walked into a bar.

Not at the same time, you understand.

Kentigern MacRaff stood at the bar with Sly Speakeasy, swapping stories of foes old and new, tales of wars and bars long past.

"...Not much more you can expect from the beaver, really," Sly was saying.

"Hellgates!" Kentigern swore, loud enough that the hubbub of the Winners' Lounge ebbed for a moment. He lost his volume and scowled at the vole either in outrage or sympathy— nobeast could tell which. "A beaver, ye say? Ah dinnae ken of 'em, but he doesnae sound like a woodlander t'me."

"Aha! You see, Mac, it's funny because he surely is a _wood_ lander— word is he built his first dam by chewing the tree down all by himself!" Sly chuckled. "But yes, a villain through and through. Not like us, eh my lad?"

But the hare wasn't entirely listening. His roving eyes landed on a stoat walking to a table in the corner with Thrayjen and the blue-eyed ferretmaid who followed him around. Aldridge Moor, he recalled hearing. The one who'd landed himself a cushy job away from the fighting while his woodlander friends died in the arena.

He leaned in conspiratorially, but failed to lower his voice. "D'ye ken what ah really detest, laddie? The ones who live among woodlanders. Weaselin' their way in— aye! Ah said weaselin'!" Kentigern turned angrily upon a weasel who had half-risen out of his seat in indignation. "If ye gotta problem wi' that, ye kin take it oop wi' mah fists!" He raised said fists and waved them menacingly. The weasel quailed under the Highlander's fury and sat back down, focusing intently on his drink. "That's what ah thought," he sneered. He paused briefly to take a drink before continuing. "Vermin like that'un—" he gestured vaguely in the direction of the stoat. "Weaselin' their way in, livin' under an honest beasts roof an' callin' 'emselves friends! Disgustin'!" He spat on the floor and slammed his flagon onto the bar.

The hubbub died down, and every beast had turned to give the drunken hare a wary eye. Sly was visibly edging away from the highlander, who had turned to face the room. "A vermin who says they're a woodlander's friend ain't nothin' but a liar, pure an' simple." He punched the bar, but didn't recoil when his paw connected with the sturdy wood. "An' any woodlander who says a vermin's their friend— idiot, or traitor. We're enemies! Ye kin stay in yer hordes an'... an' we'll stay in our towns an' we'll only meet on the battlefield t'spill blood an' that's the way it's meant to be. Hellgates! That's the way it's always been." He turned to face Aldridge. The stoat was staring at him with burning eyes, teeth bared. "Oi— ye lookin' at me, stoat?" Kentigern said, leering. "Got somethin' tae say?"

Aldridge stood slowly, whiskers quivering. "I lost three friends just a few days hence." A cool, quiet voice. "Hunter Tanra, squirrel. Patrolbeast Envar, mouse… Patrolbeast Cricken, squirrel. I feel the loss just as much as you, when you lose one of yours. Don't you dare stand there and tell me otherwise. Twenty seasons we lived in the same village. I watched Cricken grow up!" His voice guttered; his eyes glistened. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his fists and closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them and glared at Kentigern. "I watched him grow up, damn you."

The hare scoffed. "And so ye think ye were equals? Ye think ye earned their respect?" A hard bark of laughter and a gulp from his tankard. "It's a wee bit funny that ye think they respected ye in the first place. Nae...nae, nae, nae. They didnae respect ye. They couldnae." He gave Aldridge a vicious sneer. "Yer a damned vermin. They kept ye aroond 'cause ye could halp 'em."

Aldridge took a quick step forward. The ferret beside him reached out and murmured something, but the stoat shook stabilising paw off his wrist as his hackles rose. "Enough. Some of them thought like you, when I first came to Madder Barrow. But I proved myself. I proved them wrong. And now you call them traitors when they're not even alive to defend themselves. Dead because beasts like you can't get over their damned bloodthirst."

"Ye proved 'em wrong, did ye?" Kentigern raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head. "Nae, ah ain't buyin' it. Ah've haird the story before, more times'n ah kin count. The redeemed vermin, trusted by woodlanders! Ah, but would ye lookit that, the poor vermin ne'er lives in the village proper. Always th'way." A glimmer of doubt in Aldridge's eyes, and the hare seized upon it. "Ach, did ah guess right?" He gave a hearty laugh. "They dinnae even let ye live near them. Let ye walk tae them. Still scared o' ye. They didnae respect ye— they kenned what ye were, what ye could… nae, what ye would do eventually. So they kept ye at a safe distance."

The stoat looked uncertain for a brief moment, but then his eyes hardened. "How dare you. Take all our experiences together, everything we did and every friendship we formed, and call them nothing. Seeing hatred where it doesn't live any more because you can't think of anything else! O, Highlander, whither do you wander! Down to the battlefield! Tear them all asunder! Infected with the voice of the sword just like the rest of your ilk! Writing off half the beasts in the world because of the actions of a few! Why?" Aldridge asked, "because of battles long done? Injuries forgotten lifetimes ago?"

"Lifetimes since, eh?" Kentigern's voice was quiet now, permeating with seething anger. "Tell that tae the foxes that murdered mah parents. Tell that," he spat through gritting teeth. "Tae the stoat— just like yerself— that slaughtered some o' my best friends right before mah eyes. Ah've fought hundreds o' battles against bandits an' marauders an' murderers. Ah've saved travellers from gangs an' villages from slavers." His voice began to rise again. "An' every time, d'ye ken who's dooin' the vile acts? Vermin, an' only vermin. Vermin—" His mug slammed against the bar like a thunderbolt. "Who're just—" He took a menacing step towards the stoat. "Like—" Another step. He stood now a whisker's breadth away from Aldridge. "Ye." Drawing himself up to his full height, he looked with imposing force down upon the stoat.

"Beasts like Galleran," Aldridge replied, with obdurate eyes. "Beasts who live by the same idiot code that anything that doesn't eat like you is the enemy. Ridiculous. Highlander, Hordemaster - you're all the same."

"How dare ye!" The hare surged forward fists-first. The stoat twisted out of the way, and a wild punch glanced off his shoulder instead of cracking his ribcage.

Barkeep Plockette bellowed an awful lot louder than Kentigern had ever heard him speak before. "Oi! Take it outside or you'll be barred - for life, aye!"

"Alder," Blue said softly, stepping forward. "Don't."

"Nae," said Kentigern. "Ah agree. Let's take it ootside. Ah insist." The hare turned to the door. "Ah feel we both demand satisfaction in this matter. Give th'stoat a blade, an we'll duel it out, like proper gentlebeasts."

Aldridge looked at Blue, and sighed, and turned.

"Hracken?" he asked. The rat hesitated, and looked like he was about to say something.

Blue threw a hard glare Aldridge's way, but spoke clear and quiet. "Give him his sword, aye. He means to see this through."

"Kentigern," Thrayjen looked to the hare, pleading silently. But he was ignored, and he cast his eyes down, leaned forward, pulled a scabbarded blade from beneath the table and handed it to the stoat.

Aldridge turned to the hare and they both nodded with grim determination and stepped out into the hallway. Blue, Thrayjen and Sly followed them out.

 _Ach, we're tae have an audience, it seems._ Kentigern sneered, bringing his claymore to bear. "Are ye sure ye dinnae wish fer a proper blade?"

Aldridge simply clipped his own scabbard to his belt, rolled his shoulders one by one, stared at the outsized sword with its second grip. "Because of course the great Highlander has a weapon designed for mass murder."

"An' the stoat holds a Marl blade. How many innocent beasts has that'un killed, d'ye reckin?" MacRaff glared at the still-scabbarded knife at Aldridge's waist.

"Enough." Aldridge shook his paws loose, stood with footpaws at shoulder-width.

"Aye," agreed Kentigern. "Enough." He looked at Loft Kris. _Dinnae fail me now._

In the moment of silence that followed, Sly muttered something to Blue about placing a bet; she reached out as though to slap him and he coughed, straightened up and made some excuse.

Kentigern looked at the stoat stretching out his limbs in front of him. Aldridge looked nervous, but his seething eyes were narrow and hard like granite. He raised his eyes to meet Kentigern's. The hare nodded, and lifted his blade. The stoat drew the Marl knife, a heavy short-sword in his paw, and held it low, to the side.

Kentigern swung hard at shoulder-height. Aldridge ducked under the blow, aiming to drive a punch into the hare's stomach. The hare stepped back twice, quickly, avoiding it.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yer truly goin' tae fight off-paw?"

The stoat shrugged. "I don't wish to kill you."

"Laddie," scoffed Kentigern, "Ah ain't one tae let mahself die."

Shifting his grip, he held his claymore like a ram and stepped forward and put his strength and weight into a forward thrust aimed at the stoat's trunk. Aldridge sidestepped again, this time driving a hard jab directly into the hare's own off-paw. Kentigern's paw fell away from the heavy sword, and he brought his now-free elbow hard into the stoat's side. Aldridge grunted and rolled away.

Kentigern flexed his off-paw and winced. His opponent, also wincing, pressed a paw to his ribcage.

They took up new stances. MacRaff again shifted his grip. His good paw grasped the hilt of the claymore and his other hooked over the cross-guard. Aldridge watched, switching the Marlfox knife to his other paw.

The hare chuckled. "Ach. Now ah'm tae fast fer ye, eh?"

Aldridge merely nodded.

Kentigern swung again, sending a blow streaking up towards Aldridge's bottom-left. The stoat's paw whipped round, Marlfox knife making contact with claymore blade and pushing the larger weapon up.

The hare overreached, and Aldridge capitalised. He cracked the flat of his blade on MacRaff's wrist, and the claymore fell to the ground with an almighty clatter.

"Stand down, sir." Aldridge lowered his knife, gazing evenly at the hare. Kentigern glared at the stoat. _Ah'm nae lettin' a vermin get the best o' me._

Kentigern lunged, driving his off-paw into the stoat's belly while his guard was down.

Aldridge let out a groan, but took firm hold of the hare's forelimb and didn't let go. MacRaff hammered two heavy elbow-blows into his back before the stoat had recovered. Aldridge stepped around the hare with his paw still firmly grasped, yanked it up just short of his shoulders and slammed the hare face-first into the wall.

"Stand down, sir!" Aldridge insisted again.

Kentigern spat onto the floor. "Ye'll have tae kill me first."

Lightning flickered behind Aldridge's eyes as the hare got a footpaw loose and kicked him in the gut and sent him reeling. Aldridge turned it into a controlled fall, barely keeping his shuddering stomach muscles under control as he rolled backwards and rose to his footpaws again.

Kentigern was upon him immediately, he swung with a ferocity that he knew would take the stoat every instinct to keep up.

Left hook, face. Raise paw to outside of fist, push fist left, duck right.

Right hook, throat. Backpaw blow to outside of fist, push right. Twist shoulder back and away. Move footpaws to match.

Opportunity. Step in, push overextended paw further. Step in, drive fist into sternum.

The hare staggered backward into the wall.

Fire flashed behind MacRaff's eyes as he threw himself forward and to the side, paws landing on the hilt of the claymore as he executed a painful but textbook roll that he'd not used since the seasons before he'd gained a family.

He stood, paws limber enough to hold the mighty weapon again, and brought it crashing down on the stoat. Three times the stoat parried, visibly wincing as the force of each blow hammered into his paws and joints.

On the fourth, they locked.

And now they were braced against each other, a Marlfox knife holding back a Highlander claymore. Each pushing for supremacy, for survival.

"Filth! Vermin! Coward! Why did ye nae get it o'er with? It's what ye were made fer! Ye shoulda killed me when ye had the chance. Murderer."

"Hellgates, will you just shut up!" Aldridge bellowed in his face. "I would never harm any beast from my village! Not a single one!"

Kentigern couldn't keep the triumphant snarl from his muzzle. He had gotten under the stoat's skin. "Liar. Lookit yer eyes, right now. Ye'll let every last one o' them die an' ye'll ne'er even have the courage tae admit it! Three dead, ye said it yerself! It's yer fault, ain't it? Ah kin see it all, in yer eyes. Blank, dead, watchin' everything and everybeast. Ye may not be a murderer but ye sure as hellgates ain't goin' tae help 'em, are ye? Ye only care aboot yerself."

Aldridge roared, lashed out a fist and knocked him back.

Kentigern staggered back, before planting a footpaw behind himself for balance and steadying his grip on his claymore. "Ye ain't what ye think ye are. Yer a vermin, nothin' more, an' it's mah duty t'see ye dead." The hare took two quick steps forward and put everything into a heavy swing at shoulder height.

Aldridge wasn't there. Kentigern looked down to find the stoat's eyes glinting viciously up at him. His gaze was reflected from something unseeing and visceral. As the stoat twisted the handle of the Marlfox knife, rending the Highlander's gut, the hare felt blood rise from the back of his throat.

"Ah told ye." He croaked, as his claymore fell from his paws.

His breath failed him as Moor ripped the knife from his belly, drove it straight back into his sternum. Shoulder. Chest. The blade plunged into the hare's body. Again. Again. Again.

Time snarled up, becoming everything and nothing all at once. The stoat's twisted fury flickered in front of his eyes. Kentigern stumbled forward, blood running from his mouth.

But one more moment of rage was all he needed to spit a mouthful of blood into the vermin's eye, throw one last insult at the beast who had killed him.

"Ah told ye. Ye—" Kentigern fell to the floor, coughing uncontrollably. Blood splattered across the ground. "Ye ain't nothin' more."

* * *

Screaming, hissing electricity finally faded from Aldridge Moor's mind, and he realised one thing as it did.

He had lost.

The hare's ruined body lay there, that same triumphant snarl locked on his muzzle. Bragging to Aldridge that no matter his self-control, that fury would always boil over in the end, and somebeast would always die. The hare's life had ended here, because Aldridge had failed.

The Marlfox knife fell from his paw, one more life added to its list.

Paws came to rest on his shoulders - one heavy paw, one light. He turned, and found himself confronted with the haunted faces of Blue and Hracken. The vole who had followed them all out of the bar was stomping his way back in, scowling at the floor and muttering something about poor investments.

"They'll lock you up for this, aye." Blue's eyes were downcast, even as she reached up and wiped the hare's last insult away from his face. Not quite ashamed, but sorrowful.

Thrayjen's were much the same, but he didn't speak and instead kept Aldridge's eye, nodded once. There was empathy there, more than Aldridge first realised. Perhaps more than the rat even realised.

Aldridge unclipped the scabbard from his belt. He handed it to Blue. She picked up the Marlfox knife from where it had fallen, and stepped away.

The guards rushed in, slammed him into the wall, twisted his paws behind his back and locked them together.

He could manage only two words, spoken to the departed hare more than any other.

"I'm sorry."


	33. Coming Up Easy

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Coming Up Easy**

 _By: Sly_

* * *

 _He did it. He pulled it off._

Sly had watched the entire fight from the servant section. It was nerve-wracking, but Mac managed, with more than a little help from the rat Sly knew nothing about. As the match was called, Sly felt, for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile creep across his muzzle.

"I'm….rich," he whispered to himself. Though an annoying voice in the back of his head snorted, saying 'richer than before, you mean', Sly was still grinning ear to ear. He couldn't wait to snatch the bag of coin waiting for him right out of Copper's paws.

By the time the vole collected his winnings and finished celebrating with his two new favorite beasts, the next match was already underway. Everybeast had already forgotten about MacRaff the Wrathful and his exploits. Sly felt a twinge of irritation. He had just made his fortune, his life was about to turn around, and he was the only one who seemed to notice.

Well, I can certainly let one beast in particular know. The vole made a beeline for the Podium. There weren't many beasts to get in his way, all of them focused on the next match which, from the bloodcurdling cries, could only be very entertainingly bloody. Sly grimaced, and approached the somewhat secret pathway to the back of the Podium. Sneaking in behind some pudgy hedgehog and a bizarrely dressed stoat, Sly spotted Nire himself in his very important chair. The vole had somehow managed to forget the lynx would be here as well, but immediately forgot all about him again when he saw the massive beast sitting next to him. It was Blasio, complete with a hand and mouthful of aspen twigs.

The vole sidled his way through the crowd, his small stature keeping it easy to do until finally, he found himself next to the beaver. Unnoticed, Sly put his paws behind his back, stood upright, and smiled.

"Told you, Buck. I'm very familiar with the Podium."

For a moment, Blasio looked confused and glanced around until finally laying eyes on the vole. Sly had expected his usual arrogant grin, but was shocked to finally find a look of irritation on the beast. He spoke absently, in between chews.

"I must say, Mr. Speaky, I'm beginning to find your interest in impressing me bothersome. Unless, you're here because you did manage to earn that promotion we spoke of? In which case yes, color me impressed, that was quick."

"No, Buck, not at all. I just felt I should inform you that yes, I did make it big. And I was wondering, how much did you lose on those backwater brothers?"

Blasio stopped chewing his twigs. "Is that why you're here? To brag about that stroke of luck?"

"To brag? Most definitely. But about luck? Not a chance. Winning and a good call, that's what I have to brag about."

Blasio's grin came creeping back. "I see. Then yes, I did lose because of them. One small, insignificant gold piece. I wasn't expecting much from those two, and they did not disappoint."

"So, what I'm hearing is…" Sly began, mustering as much snark as he possibly could and looked Blasio dead in the eyes. "I beat you?"

"If that's what your little heart needs to hear before it's drowned in the liquor of celebration, then yes, Mr. Speaky. You beat me. Congratulations. And, if you keep this up, you may get lucky and beat me again. But," the beaver said, and then his voice dropped, losing all playfulness. "for a beast like you, that's all it is. Luck. Every fight won, every good tip you hear, every copper piece you find on the floors you scrub, it's all luck. It's life giving you a friendly little reminder not to worry, it's looking out for you. But I'll let you in on a secret, my little industrial nuisance. It isn't. And it never will. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you'll know your place is the feet of beasts like me. The ones who make their own luck."

With that, Blasio turned his attention back to the beasts in the arena.

"You know, deep, deep down, I knew I sort of respected you. But not anymore. I've figured out what you are. An incredibly stupid beast."

Before Blasio could have a reaction other than a dumb look of surprise, Sly stood tall and continued. "Of course life's unfair. That's a 'secret' to you? Well then, it's a badly kept one, because everybeast knows. I learned it when I was eight seasons old, and I'm reminded every season since. Do you really think so little of me you felt the need to tell me the ancient, sagely wisdom that 'sorry, life's a real villain sometimes'?"

"Yes, Mr. Speaky, I do think that little of you. You haven't seemed to figure out that you're not special, that all you are is amusing talk and nothing else. A little joke. A joke that has stopped being funny, and has gone on long enough. Now if you'll excuse me I have an important match to…"

"That's why you're not very smart, Buck," Sly interrupted. "You're an awful judge of character. You don't know me. You don't know me at all. And the real joke is that you don't think I'm a threat."

"And what makes you such a threat, little vole?"

"The fact that I _am_ a good judge of character."

"Are you now?" Blasio asked, without a trace of humor. Suddenly, Nire reminded Sly and Blasio of his presence and shouted for the audience.

"Lovely ladies, gentlebeasts. I give you the dreaded... Monster of Mossflower Woods!"

The arena elevator opened, and out came an ottermaid. Or, from what Sly could tell, possibly…

"An otterwife?" Blasio snorted, and a gleam came to his eyes. "Alright, Mr. Speaky. Show me how good a judge of character you are. Will this otterwife live or die?"

Sly took a glance at the beasts in the arena. The champion Hammerpaw was jeering at his opponent, who simply stared him down as she carried her weapons with a fearsome look in her eyes. Sly nodded.

"She's going to kill him."

Blasio laughed, then suddenly laughed harder, spilling his twigs and slapping his knee. "You're right, I am a terrible judge of character. You're still very, very funny."

"Then bet all you've won today on Hammerpaw. Prove you think I'm wrong."

Blasio's toothy grin faltered and faded into a frown. He tapped a weasel sitting next to him, who Sly assumed was a scribe of some sort, and handed him a bag of gold. The weasel rushed off, and before the beaver could speak, Sly did instead.

"Only one thing you said is true. That there are beasts who make their own luck. It's true because there is no such thing as luck. We only get what we give. I've given a lot of beasts hell, and that's why I have so much hell to pay. You, though? While you've been making your own luck, you've been giving beasts so much worse than hell that you'll be paying for it in spades. And I'll be there to watch. Because the next time you see me, I'll be sitting in your seat right there."

"Did I offend you?" Blasio asked. "Because if so, you must know there is nothing personal between us. Once I win this bet with you, I'll have you removed and forget all about you come dinner."

"Oh don't worry, I have no reason to watch a fight I already know the outcome of. Besides, I've already got a champion, and plenty more matches to prepare him for. But here, you can have this to buy your drink tonight."

Sly flipped a copper piece to the beaver, then he made his exit. He knew he meant it, too. No more need to impress Toothy. He'd already done it, and was about to do it again.

 _I've got a champion, and I've got wealth. I'm on my way to end you, Buck. And after that walk in the park is finished, I'll take on this whole damn crater. Nothing's in my way._

* * *

Then the crazy hare went and got himself killed.

It at first seemed like Sly's drunken friend was having one of his moments, only a little more violent than usual. It wasn't until the blade was drawn that reality hit. One of them wasn't going to see the morning.

Sly handled it the way he handled bad news best: he went to the pub. One champ he could trust down, and the other a pacifist, who understandably didn't wish to return to the Crater Lake. Life was looking grim, but at least it was when booze was affordable. As the vole would ask Gunder for the drinks, he suddenly realized how...different it was drinking now. Mac may have been crazy, but he was a good drinking buddy. And that, in Sly's opinion, is worth something.

It was around the second day of drowning his sorrows in mead that he remembered something, something somehow forgotten. He had already found a new champion. A monster, in fact. As the realization struck, the vole picked his head up from the countertop and smiled.

After a time carefully maneuvering the tunnels (though he had money now, Sly was still keen on not giving it to the beasts who he 'owed'), the vole eventually found the area he had come for. It was mostly a closet hidden a little ways off from the Drag. It was storage for the many scribes working in the Crater. In it were piles and walls full of scrolls, and cabinets stuffed full of quills. Sly knew there was ink somewhere inside the mess, but he didn't care enough to look for it. Why write when you could speak?

 _And now, the hard part_. After closing the door, Sly walked to the middle of the closet, moved aside a strange pile of shredded parchment, and sat down for the wait ahead. The incredibly long, boring wait. So long, Sly began to hear the tavern calling to him, which was strange because the pub rarely spoke to him anymore….

Then the door suddenly opened, thank the fates, and Sly leaped to his feet to greet…a hideous freak. After the initial shock, Sly managed to recover himself before saying something rude to the poor volemaid who had entered and wrecking any chance of information. So instead, he raised his paw in a still wave and grinned.

"Ahoy, madame scrivener! I was wondering, since you have a moment, if you'd like to speak with good ol' Speakeasy about…"

"Not particularly," the volemaid said calmly, not even looking Sly in the eyes as she grabbed a roll of parchment and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Oh." Sly said, then rushed after the wench.

She hadn't gotten far, and so the vole ran up behind her, tapped her shoulder, then ran in front to keep pace with the female.

"I'm sorry if I intimidate you, no need to be ashamed of your disfigured features! It hasn't scared me away from having a lovely conversation with you."

"Then clearly my face isn't doing its job right," the volemaid said. And for the first time in a long time…Sly felt a stupid look on his own face. And he laughed.

"Not at all! But believe me when I say it takes a lot to scare me away from talking. And that brings me to my introduction. The name's Sly Speakeasy, 'cause speaking to me is easy." He winked.

"I doubt that," the volemaid replied without pause, and without stopping her determined walk.

"A wise belief to hold, miss…?" Sly asked, rather eagerly.

"Adeen."

"Miss Adeen! What a lovely name," Sly said, and smiled. And…kept smiling.

"Do you need something, or are you trying to play off me catching you sleeping in the storage cabinet?"

"Sleeping? I never sleep, not once. A blessing and a curse, to be sure. But no, Miss Adeen, I do have a question," Sly replied, then immediately tripped backwards over something. A mop bucket, full of water. As the vole sat in the puddle, dejectedly flicking the water off his paws, he caught a glimpse of the volemaid. A glimpse of a tiny, small smile. Sly grinned back.

"I was wondering what you knew about the Monster of Mossflower."

"Quite a bit," Adeen answered. Sly's heart skipped a bit, but then she continued. "And that's all I'm going to say about that."

"Well, that's a shame," he replied. "Then how about this instead? You come by the Crater Lake Pub sometime, and I'll buy us some drinks. You could tell me something I don't know and maybe I'll tell you a few things you don't know. Or neither!"

The volemaid was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Fine." And she walked away. But not too quickly, Sly noticed. Not too quickly at all.


	34. Flight of the Bumbling Bard

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **Flight of the Bumbling Bard**

 _By: Kali_

* * *

"Red sky at night, sailor take delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning." It was hard not to think of the old proverb while watching the sun rise, painting the clouds pink as they passed over head.

Kali was far from a sailor but the hymn held special meaning for her. She had heard it from a sailor on her first boat ride. Her troupe had to pool money for passage, and even then, they were restricted to the belly of the ship, but the novelty alone made it worthwhile.

The memory brought a smile to Kali's face. She could only imagine what her troupe would think of a place like this.

All the excitement in the arena might happen during the day, but Kali was starting to appreciate the early morning hours the most, before the doors opened to the crowds.

Hanging upside down from the rafters of the Arena's top level, Kali could easily see beasts scurrying about below. There was a certain energy in the air as slaves busied themselves with cleaning the seats, making repairs to guard rails and practicing their role in the day's festivities. It took real work to keep the Arena running smoothly with only a few hours to spare before the audience come pouring in…

 _… to watch beasts die._

Kali cringed as the mango she was eating turned to ash. It was hard to enjoy her meal knowing it was bought with blood money, and there was simply no amount of wine or tasty treats that could erase the memory of the Culling.

Didn't keep Kali from trying of course. Her diet was completely ruined from her attempts to escape the vivid images of 'glorious' combat, and the victim's desperate pleas for mercy still haunted her dreams.

 _All for wholesome family entertainment._

"This mango was rotten anyway." Kali sighed, stuffing her breakfast into the sack she brought with her.

Flapping her wings, Kali dropped from the rafters. Her sudden appearance at the stair well on the level below caused a few beasts to shout in alarm.

"Sorry, Leroy!" She called out. The bat continued to glide in a circle down the stairs, greeting beasts she knew, apologizing to others she narrowly avoided.

"Berry! Looking good! New tunic looks great! Pepper, did you polish your collar? Mr. Bone Crusher! How's the pups?"

The deeper Kali went into the arena the fewer beasts she knew. Nire kept her busy entertaining guests in the upper levels. Dancing and juggling and occasionally butchering a song as part of her act in-between matches in the arena. Kali tried her best to not focus on the fights, just her work. But it was hard to ignore the sounds of battle, and although the bat was ashamed to admit it…

… some of the fights really were good.

Trying her best to banish such thoughts from her mind, Kali finally arrived in the underworks. She decided to walk the rest of the way, poking her head around the corner of the bowyer's shop rather than just barging in, determined not to startle the stoat… again.

The shop however, was empty. Bows laid half-finished on the table along with other crafting projects. And not one of them resembled her lute.

"Aldridge? Hello! Aldy?" The bat stepped into the bowyer's empty room. "Aldy? Mr. Stoat? Are you here?"

"You won't find him here."

The bat was looking under the table when she heard the voice behind her. Kali jumped, smacking her head on the table with a loud shout. "Blast it! Not again! Ow, ow, ow owie…"

The vole standing behind Kali cringed. "Are you alright?"

"Mentally, physically or emotionally?" Kali drew a sharp breath as she rubbed her head, "Miss Droven! I didn't see you there, obviously." The bat managed to chuckle despite the circumstances. By now the sight of the Luthier was a familiar one from Kali's daily visits to check on her lute. "I was going to visit Aldy before coming to see you…"

"I was hoping Aldridge was with you actually." The vole replied. Droven was a muscular beast and Kali found it odd to see such a powerful creature nervously wring out her own tail. "He didn't come into work this morning."

Kali tilted her head to one side. She didn't seem to follow why the vole would be so worried about something so trivial. "Maybe he is just running late."

"Maybe." Droven said quietly, "I hope it is nothing, but no one has seen Aldridge today. And there are rumors there was some kind of fight in the bar last night." Letting go of her tail Droven laughed, "I guess I am just worried is all. So many of my villagers have died in the past few days, I would hate to lose another one."

Kali cringed. What kind of sympathy could she offer? Somehow, 'I feel sorry for your loss,' just didn't seem to cut it.

"There is nothing to be done about it now though." Droven rubbed something from her eye but still managed to smile, "Ah, I almost forgot why I came down here in the first place. I was going to tell Aldridge to let you know the good news. I was able to fix your lute after all. I just need to polish it up. Swing by tonight to pick it up."

This brought a smile to Kali's face. "Oh, thank you!" She wrapped herself around the vole with a hug.

The vole chuckled, "I thought that might make your day." She gently tore herself away from the bat, hesitating before asking, "Can you ask around about Aldridge for me? There are only so many places I can go as a slave and…"

The bat laughed. "I'm sure Aldridge is fine. You'll see. I can't imagine him getting into too much trouble."

"Then you don't know Aldridge." The vole replied, "If you see him, let him know we are worried about him, okay?"

The bat gave the vole a thumb up sign with her wing. "Oh, I will! You can count on that. I'll give Aldy a good ol' scolding for making all of you worry. Just you wait." The bat turned on her heel to walk away, her smile instantly melting from her face.

Where _was_ Aldridge?

She just hoped that he didn't go and get himself into trouble after the last time they spoke. Kali could only imagine how the stoat must be hurting after losing friends to something like the Culling.

 _Not enough volunteers willing to die for your entertainment? No problem! Just throw some slaves into the games._

 _Half the beasts who died had no choice but to fight…_

"I already knew that." Kali said out loud as she walked up the stairs. Beasts had to step around the bat, narrowly dodging her wings as she gestured with them, "Slavery isn't new for you batty. You've seen slavery from one end of the continent to the next. Sure, it's sad, but there isn't anything you can do about it. It's just… a way of life for the beasts here."

 _But this isn't slavery. This is slaughter._

Stopping on the next level, Kali growled to herself, "Oh, and what am I supposed to do about it? What _can_ I do? I'm just a bard! A bard with a paying _job_!" Briefly Kali thought about what would happen if she went back to working taverns like before. An image of a scrawny bat filled her mind, dressed in rags and shivering in the cold.

 _"Oi! My tender sensibilities of right and wrong sure are keeping me warm this winter!"_

Kali rubbed her shoulders as she shivered. She didn't want to be homeless again, not through another winter like the last. But what if she stayed?

Another image of a bat filled her mind, this one sleek and beautiful, dressed in a blue silk dress. Pearls wrapped around her neck and diamonds hung from her ears. _"Darlings,"_ Wealthy Kali said to an adoring crowd, _"I know you all want me to preform for you, but I'm booked solid! Maybe this time next year?"_

Kali scrunched her nose. She was walking again, nearing the office corridors. "Right. I doubt that would really happen but…" The bat's voice trailed off. She stopped halfway down the hallway, ears twitching. She glanced quickly over her shoulder but only statues of famous gladiators returned the bat's stare.

This didn't stop Kali from squinting her eyes however, and eventually the bat smiled coyly.

A moment passed. Cautiously a beast peered around the corner. The vole blinked in surprise that the bat was missing from the hallway. Her head looked left and right for the beast until she seemed to conclude that there was only one conceivable place Kali could be and looked…

"Hi!" Kali waved, hanging upside down from the ceiling above the vole.

The beast let out a squeak, instinctively shielding herself with her book. When no attack came, the vole carefully began to peer over the top of her makeshift shield.

Still hanging from the rafters Kali offered another wave of her wing, "Hi there! So sorry to startle you. It just seemed like you were following- Oh Fates! What-has-happened-to-your-face!?" The bat made a high-pitched wail as she covered her own muzzle with both wings.

The vole pulled the hood of her cloak closer. "It is nothing. Really."

That doesn't look like nothing." The bat descended from the ceiling, landing on the floor. "Are you ok? You look…" Noticing the dangerous stare the vole shot her way, Kali quickly swallowed her initial reply, "Good. Good. Hardly noticed it." Kali hid behind a shelter of her own too, using laughter to try and remove the foot she so gallantly put into her own mouth, "I've seen you around before. I'm afraid I never caught your name, but you are a scribe for Nire, right?"

The vole nodded.

Kali would be the first to admit that she wasn't very good at picking up social cues, but even she could tell when a beast wanted nothing more than to bolt away from a situation rather than start a conversation.

So, naturally, Kali tried to start a conversation. "What happened? Did you fall? Because I've nearly done that half a dozen times just on the way here and let me tell you, this floor is not forgiving."

This only caused the vole to smirk, "Yes, a fall." Her eyes shifted away from the bat, "I fell after a jar leapt up and attacked me."

The bat gave her a curious glance, wondering if her head wound ran deeper than it looked. "Jars, don't normally leap."

"They do with help…" The vole waved off the bat's concern. She let her book drop but kept her head turned slightly away from the bat so her wound was hidden. "It is inconsequential."

"Are you sure? Because it looked like you were following me for a reason." Kali said, thinking that reason was a cry for help.

"Yes, I was…" The vole seemed to struggle on how to explain. "I was taking notes."

"Notes? About me?"

"Yes." The look in the vole's eyes was something Kali was not familiar with. It was a sort of insistent curiosity she had never seen before, and made her quite uncomfortable.

"T-that's nice." Kali took a step backward, "Oh! I-I think I just heard Nire calling me."

"Doubtful." The vole snapped her notebook open, turning it to the page she needed without looking at it. "Now, Miss Kali, was it? What kind of bat are you?"

Giving the vole a rather worried stare, "Whyyyyyyyy do you need to know?"

"Why not?" The vole's stark yet serious reply completely floored the bat, allowing her to continue, "I am Nire's scribe, Adeen. Noticing anomalies in the Crater is my duty and goal. As a bardic bat, you fit both."

Adeen's explanation was met with a blank stare from Kali. "So, for Science?"

"If it lets me get my job done faster, then yes. For Science."

"Oh! Okay. That I can understand." The bat relaxed, "It wouldn't be the first time someone was fascinated by the appearance of little ol' me. Heck, just being a fox-bat has got me a few jobs that way. Although an alchemist did want to dissect my brain once. As long as we don't go that far, I am fine answering a few questions."

"I promise nothing." Adeen jotted the term 'fox-bat' down into her notebook. "Do you have any actual fox in your blood, or is fox-bat just a term people give you?"

Kali laughed, "Depends on who you ask back home, I guess. The older ones in the village used to spin tales about how we came from a fox who traded his tail for bat wings." More notes were jotted down into the book, causing Kali to chuckle. "You know, this could actually be kind of fun."

The vole nodded. "Excellent. Are you of average height and weight for your species?" Adeen prodded the bat's belly with a claw. "Are you all so… squishy?"

 _And this is no longer fun_ , Kali thought. With squinted eyes she said, "As far as you know? Yes. We are very squishy beasts."

Kali wasn't sure how much time passed after that. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes of prodding, poking and measurement taking. Kali answered the vole's questions to the best of her ability, forcing herself to answer even when they got a little too personal for her tastes. In the end, the vole might have satisfied her curiosities, but all Kali got from the exchange was a stark reminder of just how plain she was in the bat world. She might draw attention of these Mossflower beasts, but Kali doubted a creature of her dimensions would turn very many heads back home.

Surely Kali's wings were not that short, nor were her hips so… rounded, were they? Kali shook off her self-doubts. There was a purpose to enduring these uncomfortable questions.

"Now that I have answered your questions, perhaps you can answer some of mine?" The bat clapped her wings together.

"Do you not have voles where you come from?"

"Our voles don't usually have bruises." Kali said with what she hoped was a comforting smile. The vole tugged at her hood once again.

"I told you. It is nothing. Just a disagreement between me and another slave."

"Then you really should tell Nire about it. I'm heading that way now to provide entertainment for his breakfast. If you want, I could let him know you were attacked by a-"

"Do you want to get me _killed_?" Adeen snapped at the bat so quickly it made Kali flinch. "What do you think Nire is going to do once he finds out I got into a fight?"

Kali continued to back away from the vole's sudden fierceness, "I don't know… f-fix the problem, m-maybe?" Given the way Adeen looked at Kali, she could tell she gave the wrong answer.

"Nire fixes _nothing_. He only destroys and tears apart. How do you think I got here in the first place? Do you think any of the beasts who wear a collar were slaves bought in some auction?" The vole lowered her voice but hardly softened her tone. "No, he put us here. And if he thinks anyone of us can fight, he will make us do so for crowd's amusement."

Kali had no response except to regard the scribe with horror. "I-I am sorry. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble."

"It is not my trouble that should concern you, but your own." The vole said quietly but just as urgently, "I hear how Blasio talks about you, I hear how Nire's friends talk about you. They whisper in his ear of putting you in armor. They think you would last in the games after you stopped that assassin."

Despite the seriousness of the conversation Kali found herself holding back laughter, "Me? In the arena? They are just joking about that! All I did to that assassin was beat him over the head with a lute. It was more comical to them than serious. No beast in their right mind would want to see a bard thrown into combat."

"Is anyone here really in their right mind?" Kali found no response to the vole's raised eyebrow, "Some advice, bard. Whatever keeps you here, whatever Nire holds? Let it go. Beast, object, blackmail. Leave it for lost and disappear before your blood fills the Crater."

Before Kali could reply she was distracted by the sound of a door opening down the hall. Just another servant scurrying about from office to office. By the time Kali turned back to Adeen she was already gone, tail disappearing around the corner of the hallway.

"T-thanks for the chat." Kali called out to the vanishing vole. Slowly Kali turned and began walking for the room at the end of the hall. Nire was taking his breakfast in the podium today, and she didn't have much more time to waste. Yet, the conversation with Adeen left an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her knees wobbled as she walked.

It wasn't wrong to want the good life, the bat told herself, no matter what ill-conceived notions a single vole may have.

But they were not ill-conceived, were they?

Kali could not deny the Arena's purpose. To entertain in the bloodiest way possible. She also couldn't deny that most of the beasts here were kidnapped, by the Arena. And those slaves did not lead very happy, or long, lives.

What would it _really_ be like if she stayed?

Kali jumped as a paw tapped her on the shoulder. Kali spun on her heel, ready to defend herself with her wings against an imaginary rat assassin. Instead she found Baxter behind her, holding up his paws defensively, "Whoa, easy there, lass. I'm a friendly, remember."

"What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?" Kali demanded. "Blazes, Baxter, I was almost killed just half a month ago!"

The fox gave a curious glance at the bat's reaction. "I called out to you, twice." His curiosity turned to concern, "Are you, okay? You seem distracted today."

Kali crossed her wings, "What's this I hear? The great and mighty Baxter showing concern for 'a little freak of nature'?" She was surprised when her fellow bard cringed at hearing his own words used against him.

"Well, you got to admit, you are a freak of nature." The fox's chuckle fell flat, "But I can see now that I should not have called you that."

Kali tilted her head curiously to the side, "What's this? An apology? Who are you, and what have you done with the real Baxter? And can we keep you?"

"Oh, har har, do you want an apology or not?" The fox rolled his eyes, "Look, I admit that we didn't get off on the right paw. To be fair, _someone_ did burst into the room demanding the gig I had."

Kali nodded her head. She could agree with that.

"But," the fox continued, "I would like to think that I do have some scrap of decency left in me, enough to admit that you do have talent. Even if it's a bit unorthodox. You can play a lute, you can dance, you can even sing in your own odd, ear splitting, batty way."

Despite the swirl of emotions waging war inside her, Kali managed to smile, "Thank you, Baxter. That, that actually means a lot to me."

The fox smiled, "What truly impresses me though, is the fact that you can do all that while carrying a child."

Kali nearly tripped into the door.

"At first, I thought you were just some upstart kit trying to make a name for herself, but I can see why a single mother would claw and fight so hard for a… um…" The sheer amount of murder channeled through Kali's stare was enough to make the fox pause, "Unless of course you are _not_ pregnant and just very…" Baxter waved his paws in the air while searching for a more tactful term to describe the bat.

Eventually he gave up, "I'm about to be slapped, aren't I?"

Standing nose to nose with the fox and glaring at him with all the fierceness her eyes could muster, Kali reached up to Baxter's head, and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

"I deserved that." The fox admitted while Kali turned angrily for the door. This day was just going _so_ well, she could hardly imagine how much worse it could get.

And then it did.

"Huzzah! The bards cometh." Nire looked up from the table in the center of the room to greet the bards, "I was beginning to wonder if you lot got lost. Come in, come in. Quickly beasts! Our guests are already here."

Nire wasn't the only beast in the room. Not counting the guards, a small party of wealthy looking city elites mingled with each other near the far wall of the Podium, which was open to spectate over the arena.

They came in all sorts of manner of size and clothing. Some beasts wore silk so fine that a single garment could fund a small army. Others wore the official dress and garb of their station of office around Northvale. And still, others were so spoiled by their own decadence, they were as plump as even Blasio, who reminisced about old gladiator fights with a beast wearing the gown of a magistrate.

The wealth however, matter not to Kali, who only stood at the door, eyes fixated on the contents of the long table in the center of the room.

"What is… this?" Kali's wing shook as she pointed at the table.

Nire blinked, a grin forming over his face as he got to explain the collection around the table, "These, my dear bard, are the future additions to the Hall of the Greats." He waved for the bat to come closer. "These beasts proved themselves worthy for such an honor. They fought valiantly, like this fellow here."

The cat's paw drifted towards the skull of a weasel. It was one of many, laid about the table in one big circle.

It wasn't the skull per se that made Kali's breath quicken, nor was it the fact that the skull had been polished and still wore its owner's helmet. It was the fact that she knew who it belonged to.

"Sir Darkpaw the scourge, felled by Gregor the Lancer. Oh, what a battle that was." Nire was giddy with excitement while a vivid image of the beast being cut down by a spear flashed across Kali's mind

"Thought he had Gregor, there at the end, but man, that comeback," Standing on the other end of the table, Blasio laughed, "One of the few battles I didn't mind losing money on, unlike our poor champion."

"I do admit, The Monster hardly left anything to put in our collection." Nire said sadly while regarding Hammerpaw's skull. It was horribly deformed even before the otter-wife plunged a spear through it. Kali cringed, remembering how the wearet took a fish hook to the _eye_.

Nire beckoned her to draw even closer. There were more than skulls on the table. Weapons, armor, pelts fresh from the taxidermy. Nire explained each one with childlike happiness. Kali could only listen as the world began to spin around her.

All these trophies, each one belonging to a gladiator who had fought, bled, and died in the Arena. Displayed like collectables for the wealthy to gossip over. She wanted desperately to turn away but her eyes fell upon one last object on the table.

With confusion Kali reached a wing tip out towards a claymore with a familiar hilt.

 _… ye might wanna trade that lute fer a sword if ye want tae be competing in the games._

"MacRaff." Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, "Wait a moment, he didn't die in the arena! I know he didn't die!"

Nire peered at the sword, "Who, Kentigern? Ah yes, a shame really to lose a fighter to something as mundane as a tavern brawl."

Blasio scoffed, "Do we really want to add him to the Hall of the Greats?"

"It's more of a 'what could have been' thing. He had potential. Just to up and die at the paws of a slave like that." Nire shrugged, "It's a well-made sword. It would be a shame to just let it rot somewhere."

Kali drifted away from the table, finding it hard to breath suddenly. Words failed her to describe what she saw here. Beasts had spilled their blood to fill their pockets with gold, and they treated it like a joke? Desperately Kali looked for a beast in the room who was just as horrified as she was, but the only beast who came close to looking remotely fazed was Baxter, keeping his head low in the corner of the room. How could he be so calm? Didn't this bother him too?

Didn't this bother _her_?

"So," Nire clapped his claws together, "Bard, bard-et. What song do you bring to our ears this fine day?"

"I want to go home."

Nire paused in surprise. Tilting his head upward he stroked his chin, "Is that some kind of sea chanty? I swear it's familiar."

"I think the slaves sing it to themselves every night." Blasio laughed.

Baxter nearly dropped his lute in horror, "Y-yes! A fine sea melody! Something with a quick lively pace, isn't that right, Kali?"

"No." Kali's voice was timid, still finding it's courage. "No more songs. No more dances." The bat turned to Nire. "I want to go home."

Nire didn't reply at first. He squinted as he pinched the bridge of his muzzle, "I'm confused, I thought you wanted to work here. So much so that you burst into my dining room to _beg_ me for a job."

Kali cringed, but she would not be deterred. "Nire, I've seen beasts die before. I've worked in the seedy vermin pubs, I even played a tune at a warlord's wedding. But I've never seen them slaughtered like cattle for… for _this_." She waved a wing violently at the table, "These are not… toys for children to gossip about. They were beasts, living things, who had friends and family and they DIED.

"This is _wrong_."

A stunned silence fell across the room. Glances were exchanged among the wealthier beasts. Baxter could only nervously bite into his own hat.

"Wrong?" Nire repeated the word as if it had a bitter taste. Something flashed behind his eyes that made Kali shiver. "You didn't seem to be offended by my arena when I gave you my food, and let you sleep under my roof."

"That's not what I…" The bat's words fell away as Nire stepped closer, looming over her.

"You see a slaughter, I see… magnificence." Nire pointed at the table, "These beasts came from nothing, picked up from backwater villages and forest groves. What else were they supposed to do with their lives? Become farmers? Raise a family?" The cat's voice turned sour, "How droll. They died, yes, but they died with style and they will live on forever as _legends_. The Crater gave them that."

Kali shielded herself from Nire with her wings. She knew she had lost control of the conversation and anything she said right now would only make matters worse.

"Fly back to your tavern, miserable wench."

And so, the dream came to its sudden but inevitable end. Tears were running down Kali's cheeks now. But she remembered her thoughts from weeks before, when she was desperate to become a bard. If she was going to be thrown out then she was going to be thrown out with style.

She wanted desperately to say something, to make a witty comeback, to go out with some form of honor, but the fox-bat feared her voice would choke. Instead she simply bowed, finishing one last performance before turning for the exit, waiting for the guards to escort her out.

"Are you… sure you want to just let her go?" Blasio sounded disappointed.

"What do you expect me to do, Blasio? Bind her wings and march her down to the Drag?" Nire chuffed. Back turned to Kali, the lynx grabbed his wine goblet off the table.

"That's what guards are for."

Swords were drawn on the bat, the guards blocking her path to the door. Kali gasped, "W-what are you doing?!"

"Blasio, you were right after all." Drinking from the goblet, Nire's smile returned. "I think she will turn some heads in the arena after all..."

Adeen's words came rushing back to Kali. They really wanted to see the bat in the arena? Surely, they must be joking! This was all some terrible, horrible joke! They… they couldn't actually throw _her_ into the arena, could they?

She let out a pathetic squeak as the guards advanced on her. "Y-you can't do this… I… I'm a free beast!"

Nire glanced around the room, from the law enforcer to the judge, "Well, any objections?" When he was met by indifferent silence, the lynx shrugged, "It seems you stand corrected, Kali. You _were_ a free beast."

Only Baxter shared Kali's terror. He looked torn between standing still and acting. But, ultimately not enough to help Kali.

No one was coming to her aid.

"Please Nire, don't do this. I just want to take my Lute and go! I promise you will never see me again!" Despite her please, the guards only advanced. Her only hope now was the open wall to the arena, but surely, they would be ready for such an obvious source of escape.

Casually the lynx nodded to the guards, "Try not to damage her wings. She will be needing those soon."

Kali squeaked in terror. She stepped backwards, seeming to trip over her own two feet, instead she fell into a roll right under the table, appearing on the other side. She leaped upward, grabbing the edge of the table cloth with her feet and pulling it with her as she ascended.

Nire nearly choked on his wine. "No! Stop her!" His voice was more anxious now that his precious trophies were in danger. The guards were upon Kali in an instant, but were still too slow to stop the beast. Trophies went everywhere as the table cloth fell upon the guards.

One tried to slash his way through the fabric, the other tripped over Hammerpaw's skull. In death, the warrior managed to defeat one last opponent as the rat fell into his fellow guard.

Kali didn't wait for more guards to arrive, she just bolted for open wall of the Podium, leaving a chorus of shouts behind her. Briefly her mind went to the things she would be leaving behind; her lute, her souvenirs of her many travels, her spare clothes and supplies. All of it an acceptable loss if she got out of here alive.

The bat reached the opening and veered upward, flapping her wings as hard as she could to reach those cloudy red skies above her.

 _… red sky at morning, sailor take warning._

Kali didn't know why the old hymn chose now of all times to surface. Not until a shadow fall upon her from above. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide as she let out an earsplitting scream.

An instant later the hawk snatched her from the air.

Carrying the bat off like a rag doll, the hawk circled once around the arena. Kali wasn't sure which was worse; keeping her eyes open during terrifying ride, or closing them and imagining what would happen when it finally ended…

Finishing the circle around the Crater, the hawk slowed before landing on the edge of the Podium.

Nire was the only beast who dared approach the bird, raising an eyebrow to the pathetic form of Kali dumped roughly at his feet. She was curled into a shivering ball, hiding behind her wings, but she had no injuries other than the near heart attack her capture brought upon her.

The hawk looked expectantly at Nire. Hovering a talon over the bat, its intent was clear without words.

Nire's face was impassive as he considered Kali's fate. He idly tapped a claw against the broken skull of Hammerpaw in his hand. "There won't be any need for that, Thunder. I think Kali got the lesson." Nire kneeled beside the bat, "Now, now, Kali. Don't be upset. I'm giving you everything you ever wanted. This is your chance to be famous, to do something really… amazing. And if not…"

Nire's laugh chilled the bat to the bone, "Well, Thunder here will teach you the real meaning of _slaughter_."

Kali cried as the guards grabbed her by the arms. As she was led away, the only thought running through her mind was…

 _I should have listen to the Vole._


	35. The Chains That Bind Us

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only three remain. Your vote counts! Please join us by visiting to vote and discuss, or feel free to leave a review and give us feedback!

* * *

 **The Chains that Bind Us**

 _A Collaboration Between: Komi and Minerva_

* * *

The nights in the Drag had grown deathly quiet since the Culling. No more was the silence broken by the ragged coughs or weeping of weaker beasts. Those beasts were gone and when there was noise, it was deafening.

The sound of a rattling chain was all it took to wake Minerva. The otter blinked tiredly and swiped a paw over her eyes. Across from her in the cave they commandeered, Komi lay upon her bunk. The stoat twitched violently in her sleep and she clenched her teeth, her face contorting as if she were wounded. She kicked her leg then, sending another ripple through the chain.

Minerva sighed.

Quietly, the otter got to her feet and trudged towards the stoat. "Komi…" she whispered. When the beast didn't wake, the otter placed her paw on the stoat's shoulder. "Komi."

Komi shoved the otter's paw away with a gasp. Her eyes stared wildly around the room, as if searching for something, or somebeast. Returning to Minerva, she blinked, then scrubbed her face roughly with her paws. "Damn..." she whispered, her voice breaking.

Minerva lowered her paw. The chain at her ankle rattled as the otter ambled back to the other wall and sat against it. Turning her head, she watched as the stoat panted heavily. It was the only noise between the two for a short while, until the otter looked back to her and broke the silence. "My daughter has nightmares."

The stoat snorted. "That supposed to make me feel better?" Komi pushed herself into a sitting position, wiping her damp face once more with a trembling paw. "Having nightmares like a kit…" She stared at the floor, her breathing shakily, then her paw began tapping softly on her leg.

"Didn't mean it as an insult," Minerva said. She watched the stoat's claws drum up and down, recalling when the stoat did the same thing in their cell. The otter continued. "Sometimes, late at night, Fable'd come runnin' t' my bed and tug my paw til I woke. I'd hold her and, sometimes, we'd tell stories t' one another 'til her worries were gone, and she fell asleep. Is that what ye do when ye get scared? Tap yer claws or sing?"

Komi's paw stilled. She glanced at it, and shrugged. "Singing was the only thing that kept me sane after..." she swallowed, "after Redwall. Never could get back to sleep, so I'd just… start walking. Sing. I didn't know what else to do." Her voice dropped to a very quiet whisper. "I can't sing here…"

Minerva strained her head, looking around her at the other beasts sleeping huddled on the floor of the Drag. "No, prob'ly not. Doesn't mean ye can't talk though."

Komi's mouth opened, closed again, then she asked, "Are you saying you want to talk to a 'vermin?'"

"No. Talkin' to a vermin is the last thing I'd ever want t' do," Minerva answered her, "but they were sayin' communicatin' would help us live. I hate the beast, but Nire had a point. I'm not about t' drag some vermin's corpse just 'cause I don't wanna talk t' them, and I'm certainly not about t' let ye drag mine. I've got Fable countin' on me."

"You do," Komi agreed. "Though, I would probably just take an axe to a corpse's leg." She shrugged. "Remove the dead weight."

"Hard t' do that when all ye've got's a shield, Coward," Minerva said with a sly chuckle. "Besides, what would ye do when they replace that 'dead weight' with an iron ball?"

"I didn't say it was the best idea," Komi muttered. "Better than dragging a body around. Certainly wouldn't help your daughter's nightmares, if she saw." Komi leaned her head back on the stone and closed her eyes.

"No. But that's why I've gotta live for her. She's all I have left," Minerva said quietly, turning her fishhook in her claws. "And, well, _I'm_ all she's got. I'm not leavin' her alone in this place."

"I wouldn't either, if I were you," Komi whispered.

"Of course not. What mother would?"

Komi went completely still. For several long moments, she didn't even breathe. Then she exhaled slowly. "Of course."

"I've been havin' nightmares, too, ye know. I go t' sleep and all I see are boars chargin' at her, or monsters swallowin' her whole. But, when I wake up, I just remind myself that it ain't real," Minerva said, a soft smile rising to her lips with each word. "I think of somethin' happier. I think about how big she's gettin' or how fast she's learnin' t' sew. She'll be a proper seamstress afore long. Maybe, I tell myself, when we get outta here, I'll take 'er t' Redwall and she can learn how t' make grand tapestries like the ones they've got hangin' around everywhere. Then I start thinkin' about seasons passin'. Maybe she'll find another braw riverdog and settle down, and have a little daughter of her own… I dunno.

"Her father used t' tell me stories before we married. I always liked stories, so, I try t' come up with my own now. It's a different one each time. One time, she was a healer tendin' t' the sick. Another, a scholar, studyin' old texts that would leave me scratchin' my head. A cook, bakin' bread and givin' sweets t' Dibbuns. A sister of Redwall, keepin' the peace. Makes me smile thinkin' about it," Minerva said, letting her fishhook fall slack at her neck, "thinkin' about what she'll become."

The otter heard a sniffling noise come from across the room. She looked up to see Komi turning her head away from her, trying her best to hide her face as tears fell down it.

A look of realization came over Minerva then as she recalled the way the stoat had watched her and Fable in the caravan and the way she gave her the chain in the cell.

"Ye've got a kid too, don't ye, Komi?"

Komi nodded, then curled in on herself, paws wrapped around her middle as she shook. "I miss him," she said through clenched teeth. "It hurts… how bad I miss him…"

"I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't know," Minerva said softly. She paused before asking, "How old?"

"Ten," the stoat choked out. She dragged a deep breath in and raised her head, then took another breath. Her voice steadied. "I miss him, and when I sing, it doesn't hurt as much. It's silly, but it helps."

Minerva shook her head with a light chuckle. "Please. It ain't like it's less silly than comin' up with stories in yer head," the otter said. They sat in silence for a few moments before Minerva looked back towards the stoat. "How about this? Why don't ye sing a song t' me and when yer done, I'll tell a story? Then we'll both get over our bad dreams."

Komi ran her paws down her muzzle and across her face, drying some of the tears. "Beasts'll wake up if I start singing. Last time I tried, someone threw a rock at me."

"Aye, that was prob'ly me," Minerva muttered.

Komi snorted, but it sounded a little like a laugh.

"So, go on. Sing," Minerva beckoned.

The stoat sniffed, and leaned her head back on the stone once more. "It'll wake beasts up. Do you really want them yelling at us?"

The otter snorted. "I'd like t' see a beast dare raise their voice towards the Monster of Mossflower Woods."

Komi closed her eyes and shifted in her seat for a moment before beginning to hum a soft melody. Keeping her voice low and soft, she sang her son's lullaby in the darkness of the Drag.

"My darling, lay your head down.  
Close your eyes to dream."

Komi stopped then as a tired hare stirred and shot her a glare. Minerva growled at the beast and he fearfully turned away. The otter beckoned the stoat on. After a few moments, Komi continued.

"Drift away on a white cloud.  
Watch the stars a-gleam.  
If the night feels too dark now,  
I will hold you near.  
I will stay right beside you.  
You will know I'm here.

So rest your head and close your eyes.  
Drift off into the darkened skies,  
And all around the stars will rise.  
I will never go,  
For I love you so."

The stoat finished her song and, when the silence settled back over the Drag, Minerva began her story. It was one of warm summers and quiet streams, of trilling birdsong and a whistling in the woods, of chance encounters and…

Komi was asleep, breathing steady and still. Minerva stopped her story there… both their worries gone.

* * *

When the morning came, the surviving slaves in the Drag began to be ushered towards the training grounds as usual. Something was off though. Hargorn and the other slavers were gentler when they woke them, and a persistent noise seemed to carry throughout the entire Crater and echo within the Drag. It was only as Minerva and Komi walked beside one another towards the training grounds did they realize it was the sound of a cheering crowd.

While there were fights nearly everyday within the Crater, the slaves quickly came to realize it was towards the end of weeks when the seats around the arena filled to the brim with beasts. Nire, sly as he was, likely had something planned to draw them in.

Komi glanced towards Minerva. The otter simply nodded. They would be fighting today, both of them knew.

It was only after doing a few more drills with Trainer Hapley and Nix did two guards approach the pair and tell them their names were called.

"Remember: Trust. Communicate. Cooperate," Hapley advised both of them. "You are not each other's enemy. You've been doing better this morning than before, so keep it up and work together and, maybe, you'll both survive the day." He glanced between them. "You might even survive intact."

"Aye, just remember who your real enemy is," Nix said.

Minerva and Komi both nodded and thanked the two trainers as they were led out of the training grounds and down a dark corridor. A guard waited by the gate at the end of it with a rack of different spears and shields and motioned for them to select one of each.

Minerva selected a simple reed spear while Komi pulled a kite shield from the rack.

The guard patted Komi down before doing the same to Minerva. "I figured Nire would be havin' ye check my mouth too after what I did t' Hammerpaw," the otter said with a grin when the beast finished.

"I doubt that glorified needle of yers would leave a scratch on what ye're fightin'," the beast said with a snort.

"And what are we fighting?" Komi asked.

"Heh heh, ye'll see soon enough, Coward."

Komi narrowed her gaze at him. The beast merely chuckled at her as he turned and unlatched the gate to the arena and pulled it open.

"Lovely ladies, gentlebeasts… I've promised you all a show this morning," Nire's voice echoed through the stands, "and now I'm going to give it to you. You saw the Monster of Mossflower take down the mighty Hammerpaw. Now how will she fare when she's chained to the craven runaway… Komi the Coward!"

The crowd roared in a mixture of cheers and boos as the two of them strode out from the gate and into the sands of the arena. As they tentatively walked towards the center, Nire's voice rose from his place at the Podium. "The Coward here tried to escape. And what kept her from escaping you may ask? Well…"

Komi and Minerva looked across the sands as a gate in the opposite side began to rise. The stoat took a half step closer to the otter, ready with her shield, feeling bare and naked on her right side with no weapon of her own.

With an unearthly rattle, a shiny black scorpion came scuttling into view. Komi yelped and shrunk behind her shield. The creature turned to and fro, claws raised, tail arched high over it's back. It skittered forward and Komi jerked backwards, stumbling over the chain before bumping into Minerva.

"What are ye doin'!" the otter snarled, sparing Komi only the briefest glance before returning her focus to their opponent.

Komi swallowed, her mouth suddenly bone dry. "That thing... It was in the tunnel, coming down in the dark." She shuddered. "Almost fell in a pit of them. Their tails can paralyze and kill and those claws..."

The monster on the other side of the arena lowered itself onto the sand, sitting still, as if waiting. The crowd in the stands began to holler and roar at the three beings in the ring.

Minerva eyed the scorpion tentatively, shifting her footpaws in the sand. "Bet that's why Nire's havin' us fight one. He knows yer scared of 'em. He's only tryin' t' prove t' ye and everybeast else that yer the Coward they say ye are. I don't think yer a coward, Komi. I get bein' scared of somethin' like that. But if we're gonna get out of here and see our young 'uns again, we can't stand here."

Komi took a slow, deep breath, and swallowed. Then she nodded. "Right." Another breath. "So what's the plan?"

Minerva thumped a footpaw down on the sand and the scorpion turned quickly, centering itself on them. "I don't think it sees all that good, but I bet it can feel us through the sand."

Komi took a step away from Minerva and the scorpion shifted towards her, raising it's tail a little higher. "I think you're right." She moved back to Minerva's side, bent down and began gathering up the slack in the chain between them with her right paw. "Stay close. I'll follow your lead and watch that tail. I'll block it if I can."

"If ye can?" Minerva scoffed. "Ye'd better."

"And you'd better be good with that spear."

The otter readied the weapon as the both of them stepped forward slowly through the sands. The scorpion clicked its pincers and, as if it were a command, the crowd grew quiet. With its eight spidery legs, the creature skittered forward a few steps tentatively before backing up again and lashing out with its stinger in warning.

Komi nearly bumped into Minerva as the otter suddenly stopped moving and eyed the creature. "What is it?" the stoat asked.

"Thinkin' is all," Minerva answered. "Like I said, I don't think it can see very well. I'm wonderin'... does it know there are two of us?"

Komi looked blankly at Minerva in response. The otter tapped the butt of her spear twice into the sand and the scorpion focused its attention towards her. "Could we make it think there's only one beast?"

"How?"

"By movin' like one," Minerva answered with a look to the stoat. "Why don't ye give us a song? Somethin' simple t' keep our steps in rhythm. If we can keep our steps in time, maybe we can trick it int' thinkin' there's only one beast. Then, we can sneak in close and...

"I can block and keep it busy…"

"Aye, and then I rush around and take it by surprise," Minerva finished. "It won't expect it, I don't think, and there are some nice fleshy bits between the shell I can sink my spear into for a quick kill."

"It's worth a shot. I mean, the only thing on the line is our lives," Komi said.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Give us a song, Komi."

After thinking for a moment, the stoat then cleared her throat and began to sing. It was a marching song with a simple three-beat rhythm and, after a few moments, Minerva memorized it and began to step forward with her partner.

"Pawstep, pawstep, one, two, three,  
These tough beasts will never flee.  
Pawstep, pawstep, four, five, six,  
Always ready for your tricks.  
Pawstep, pawstep, seven, eight, nine,  
Bring the fight so we can shine."

Together they advanced forward, their pawsteps in sync. Like a phalanx, Komi took the front, her shield at the ready, while Minerva was a step behind her with her spear poised to strike. The scorpion clicked its pincers together, its attention still fixed on the both of them as they approached, and then, without warning…

It charged.

Komi stopped her song abruptly with a gasp and stumbled backwards into Minerva, nearly knocking the otter down into the sand. They recovered their footing, eyes widening as the thing skittered towards them at an unexpected, terrifying speed. Could they meet its attack? Neither beast hesitated to find out and, without a word to one another, both the stoat and otter began to run.

The chain snapped taut and they both stumbled face-first into the sand. Then, Minerva and Komi realized their mistake: they ran in the opposite direction.

The scorpion descended on Komi then, and the crowd cheered as it tried to pick at the prone stoat with its sharp pincers. Screaming in fright, she curled into a ball like a hedgehog and held her shield tightly against her to defend herself. Cries of "Coward!" echoed from the stands.

Without hesitation, Minerva grabbed her spear and got to her feet, charging towards the creature and lunging with the weapon. The scorpion hissed as the point dug into one of its claws. The otter nearly lost her grip on the shaft as the beast pulled back in fright.

"Get up, Komi! Now!" Minerva shouted to her partner and pulled her weapon free. The scorpion turned its attention towards the otter then, and Minerva retreated slowly away from it. She held the spear defensively in her paws, struggling to keep her paws from trembling as the scorpion arched up its back. Then, with a hiss, it lashed out with its stinger.

The point skittered off the flat of Komi's shield as the stoat jumped in front of her ally and blocked it just in time. Minerva stabbed out with her spear, digging it deep into the tail. The creature hissed and attacked with one of its claws then, its pincers tightening around the shaft of the weapon.

Both Minerva and Komi stared wide-eyed as the spear was wrenched out of the otter's paws and, with a deafening sound of crunching wood, was broken in half by the scorpion's powerful pincers. Their only weapon destroyed, both beasts began to slowly retreat.

"Aye, you can handle a spear really well," Komi sneered, keeping her eyes on the creature.

"Oh, shut it," Minerva spat. "I wouldn't have lost it had I not had t' save yer sorry tail."

"And whose fault is that?" the stoat asked.

"Both of ours," the otter answered.

Komi was quiet for a moment before nodding in agreement. "We both ran in the other direction."

"Aye, we didn't talk first."

Komi was quiet for a moment, before sighing. "Thank you... for getting that thing off me."

Minerva nodded. "We're partners now, whether we like it or not. Besides, ye did the same for me. That stinger would've gotten me had ye not been there. Thank ye. Ye saved my life." The otter trembled thinking about it. "Now we just need t' get talkin'. If we make a mistake like that again, we'll both be dead."

"Right." Komi glanced behind them as they continued their retreat. The scorpion eyed them anxiously. "We're getting close to the wall. Not much room to keep backing up. Which way are we going?"

"Let's circle t' the left."

"Left it is." The two began to trace along the wall of the arena, watching as the scorpion turned to follow their movements from where it stood in wait. "And if it charges again?"

"We run t' the right."

Komi nodded and adjusted her shield. "Now, how are we going to kill this thing? We don't have a weapon."

The chain at their footpaws rattled as they walked.

"Nah, not necessarily," Minerva said with a grin.

Komi narrowed her gaze at the otter. "You can't be serious.."

"If ye have any better ideas, I'm all ears," Minerva sneered. "But I'm just rememberin' what Hapley and Nix did t' us. Remember how they wrapped their chain around us and pulled? We could do the same and constrict it like a bloody snake."

"Is the chain long enough?" Komi asked.

"Aye, I think so," Minerva answered, sizing up the creature. "We can probably loop it around one time and still have just enough slack left over fer both of us t' pull. We'd have t' pull hard though, like we did in the cells."

"Wrapping the chain around could work, but what's to stop you from getting stung?" Komi observed. "I've got the only shield. We can't share it."

They circled the arena, Komi in front slightly with her shield and Minerva, holding nothing. The scorpion circled opposite them, warier now, as if he knew he had two opponents and not just one to contend with. The audience around them called out advice, but it was lost in the cacophony.

Minerva's eyes narrowed at the scorpion. "Nire said ye were the Coward, that ye were always running." She glanced at Komi, "How fast can ye run?"

"Faster'n you."

"Can ye move faster than that thing?" the otter asked, pointing and making a circular motion with her paw.

Komi bared her teeth in a savage grin. "One way to find out."

Minerva put a paw on Komi's shoulder. "Yer gonna have t' get real close. Are ye sure?"

The stoat fixed her eyes forward on the scorpion. "Your daughter is here, Minerva. She needs you. My son doesn't. Besides, I'm sick of everybeast calling me a coward. Stay out of range of that tail, and be ready to pull." She began gathering the chain in her paw, leaving Minerva some of the slack.

Komi started to sing her marching song again and they got their pawsteps in sync. "Go right," Komi said, in rhythm with the song. "I go left. Let the slack run underneath."

They advanced, while the crowd around them roared its approval. Closer they marched to the scorpion and it, sensing their approach, held claws and tail at the ready, waiting.

"Now!" Komi yelled and they split apart. A scorpion claw snapped first for Minerva as she ran close by, then the second claw snapped at Komi, closer to the scorpion now. It bounced off her shield. The chain between the two tumbled through the sand, going under the first two sets of legs. Komi dug her footpaws into the sand, dropped the chain in her paw, and changed direction. Her free paw grabbed a hard scorpion leg as she vaulted over the monster's back, shield held high. The tail struck down, smashing into the shield. Komi kept the shield up, as her footpaws hit the sand on Minerva's side. Now dropping, she rolled under the scorpion's body, between the articulating legs. The scorpion scurried around, trying to find her again, dragging Minerva off her footpaws.

Tail lashed as Komi rolled out, the stinger hitting the bottom of the shield and scraping down it.

Komi screamed as it grazed down the leg that wore the shackle. She pushed back once, pulling the chain taut. The tail flashed down again, hitting the top of the shield. Komi drove the point of the shield into the sand, her injured leg buckling as the venom numbed it. She dug her uninjured leg deep in the sand, and curled behind the shield as it took another hit.

"Pull, Min! Pull!" she screamed, bracing herself.

Opposite to Komi, Minerva found her feet, grabbing the chain as she'd done the first night she'd found herself chained to the stoat. She dug her paws deep into the sand and pulled. The chain cinched tight around the scorpion's middle, and Minerva stepped back, leaning her bodyweight into the pull.

The creature gave an eerie hissing rattle, and struck down again at the stoat behind the shield.

The chain slipped off the armored carapace and went between two of the plates.

Another step, and Minerva hauled with all her strength.

The scorpion hissed and half turned. Something in it's shell cracked. It tried to back away, but the movement only pulled the chain tighter.

Minerva stepped back again, teeth bared in a silent snarl.

Another crack.

The audience around them roared it's approval.

Minerva let out a roar of her own and put everything into another pull.

With a wet, cracking sound, the chain severed the scorpion in two. Minerva fell back onto her tail as the beast's halves went still with a shuddering rattle and churned blood and ichor into the sand.

The arena erupted with screams and cheers.

Minerva slowly got to her footpaws and staggered over to Komi, who lay flat on the sand, eyes closed, but breathing. The stoat's leg bled from a long gash from knee to ankle.

Her eyes opened as the otter approached. "Fast enough?" the stoat panted.

"Aye. Ye hurt?"

Komi grimaced. "I can't move my leg."

Minerva held out a paw. "I ain't dragging yer carcass out of here."

Komi took Minerva's paw, and the otter pulled her upright. Minerva then supported Komi and the two beasts stumbled out of the ring together.

End of Round 2


End file.
